First Contacts
by Grey-Orc
Summary: Sequel to Strange Luminescence. When after the War of the Ring, an orc has a chance to choose her own path, she chooses light. Yet a trip into Mordor complicates matters for her. Now comes the battle that no one should fight alone - making a hard choice and sticking to it. Will she be able to hold or will she be lost like so many others?
1. Of Wargs and Orcs

**First Contacts**

By Grey-Orc and Sevilodorf

With beta assistance from Debi

2016

A Note about Burping Troll Adventures

Like many Tolkien fans, we wanted to move to Middle-Earth. And like many others we created a Role-Playing Group to do so. The Inn of the Burping Troll opened February of 2002 on the Netscape LOTR Message Board and was soon populated by an exotic assortment of elves, men, hobbits and orcs, along with a bartending balrog and a lyrical warg. As the months passed, the personae we adopted took on their own lives. The characters brought in friends and relatives, and a mysterious stranger arrived to turn the place on its ear.

The second phase of The Burping Troll began with the creation of to archive the adventures the characters insisted we tell. New, more canonical, guidelines were established concerning our use of Tolkien's landscapes; however, the warg, the balrog and the rehabilitated orcs refused to leave. Thus, our stories are set in the Fourth Age of a Middle-Earth where orcs play cribbage with elves, a balrog serves Rangers steaming cups of mulled wine and hobbit lasses scold the warg for tracking mud on the common room floor.

This story follows directly from "Strange Luminescence", so if you haven't read that you might want to. It also makes references to people, events and/or things from the Burping Troll universe. The tale takes place concurrently with the off-camera beginnings of Southern Exposure, and also skirts the edges of What Hope Remains, though you won't need to have read those specifically to understand this tale.

Chapter 1

Of Wargs and Orcs

November 1423 S.R.

Wetwang Marsh

The last rays of the sun vanished as Warg lifted her nose to savor the faint smell of snow on the air. So faint she dismissed the possibility of the icy white stuff doing more than drifting about in the air for a moment or two. It certainly wasn't anything to delay the plans she and Nik had made. Now, if the little orc would just hurry himself up, they could be off.

Warg gave a quick look over her shoulder. No sign of Nik. He was still in the barn attached to the sturdy house belonging to Russbeorn. Nik's pack master, or "Teach" as he called him since Russ refused to accept being called anyone's master, would no doubt be curled up in his enormous bed sound asleep. Russ slept more and more as the days grew colder, leaving Nik to deal with the animals and other necessary chores. This expedition would be their last chance to explore until warm weather returned. They would have a week - If, that is, they ever left.

Warg gave her left ear an irritated scratch, then considered how times had changed. Five years ago, Nik was one of Saruman the Deceiver's Uruk-hai. Not that Saruman even knew who the orc was. Less than half size, Nik was the runt of his litter and had spent as much of his time as possible staying clear of the other orcs. Warg had been in a pack that roamed the eastern slopes of the Misty Mountains between the Old Forest Road and the River Gladden. Not that she'd called them that then. Never had either of them thought that they would one day be packmates with elves, men, hobbits and a skinchanging Beorning, but here they were. Warg chuffed a laugh. Imagine, putting an orc and a warg in charge of tending chickens. Times had certainly changed.

"I'm ready."

"About time! We've ..." the scolding tone vanished as Warg picked up the scent of the honey cakes Nik was stashing in the leather pack he would sling across his back. "Now, that's a good idea. Sweets are hard to come by in the Wild. How about we eat some right now?"

"I thought you said you ate an entire haggis just this afternoon?" Nik frowned at the bag. "Maybe I should get some more."

"No, no. Let's go."

Nik gave a crooked-toothed grin at Warg's enthusiasm and nodded eagerly. He pulled at the barn door's latch once more, and then satisfied it was secure, jumped onto Warg's back. He settled into the low crouch that allowed for the greatest speed and said, "Let's ride."

West toward the Anduin was their direction. Nik had heard stories of Rauros Falls and wanted to see it. Maybe, if things went well, they would even go north along the river and see the Argonath. Warg didn't care about the stories, though she liked to settle by the hearth while they were told as there were always lots of interesting snacks to accompany the storytelling. But she did care about Nik, and if staring at a waterfall and a statue were what he wanted to do, that's what they would do.

A week later, Warg's willingness to follow Nik's lead was being sorely tested. Rather than take the same route back that they had used on their way to the river, Nik picked a path through the Dead Marshes. Why, Warg could not imagine. And though they had finally abandoned that dreary place, both warg and orc were covered in foul smelling mud, and now trapped in the outer edges of the Wetwang where momentum was no more than a plod. Warg resisted a sigh. It would take days for her to get this mud out of her fur, and the taste would linger in the back of her throat for a week or more.

Warg sniffed the air delicately. Expecting only the overpowering scents of the wetlands, she was surprised to catch a new scent. She stopped and lifted her nose to follow the gusting wind. Nik slipped off her back with a soft splash, moving to stand sniffing as well.

"Too much swamp for me to make anything out," Nik said, after a few minutes.

"It's strange. Fire and metal, with leather and wax. But it's definitely an orc."

Having made The Burping Troll her home for several years, fire and metal, separately and in combination, were familiar enough. As were wax and leather. The faint bitter musk of orc had been known since her earliest memories. What was strange was that this was not an orc Warg knew. Humans, hobbits and elves, along with the occasional dwarf, might cover their scent with fruity or flowery soap, but she could detect none of that. Inhaling deeply, she focused on ignoring the ever-present smells of rot and stagnant water.

"An orc?" Nik looked confused. "One of Gubbitch's lads?"

"No. Not anyone I know. It's faint, but the scent's there. Not too far away. It's alone, and not of the pack."

"Should we go around?"

There are all too many reasons to be wary of unknown orcs. It would be the wise thing to do, but this one was a puzzle Warg suddenly wanted to understand.

"We could, but this one has an odd scent. I want to see it."

"Which way?"

The wind was becoming increasingly shifty and gusty, which made the scent hard to catch and hold, but Warg indicated the direction with a flick of her ear. Whatever had gone wrong with the Isengarder's breeding to leave him barely half-sized had done no harm to his eyes. Nik leaned far forward, shifting his weight slightly as his eyes scanned the ground, and he soon picked out a path. Warg resist another sigh as he guided her deeper into the swamp.

About an hour later, they spotted it. Completely alone, cloaked and hooded in a big fur. There was no way to tell whether it was male or female, but it was certainly an orc. It was too short to be a man, and no dwarf would come out here. It wandered among the pools of swamp muck, peering intently into each, a knife tapping lightly against its thigh. Soon it became plain that while focused on its task, it was not unwary and scanned its surroundings for any threat. Nik and Warg stayed well back and weren't spotted. Suddenly it made a move to stoop.

Warg could see no difference in the piece of muck it lifted up, but the stranger cut into it several times, removing chunks and putting them in a big bag. Very odd. Whatever was going into that bag didn't smell like food.

"What's it looking for?" Nik asked, and received a wargish shrug in reply.

The two friends continued to watch the strange orc cut out bits of whatever it wanted badly enough to scrounge around a dank, cold swamp. Finally the bag was full, and the orc turned to leave.

Wordlessly, Nik pointed out a path that would keep them on the stranger's trail. It could not be allowed to threaten the pack.

Through the swamp, they followed with no sign their quarry was aware of their presence. Tracking prey was prime sport and Warg and Nik exchanged more than one sharp toothed grin as the hours passed. As the stars faded and black sky brightened to gray dawn, the stranger crossed the road and headed into the foothills south of the ruins of the Black Gate.

As the trail shifted north, Warg threw herself under a prickly bush with a grunt. "Not sure I want to follow it in there."

Nik pulled the stopper from his water bag and squeezed some liquid into Warg's mouth then his own. "Agreed. That's no where we want to go. But..."

Warg gave a grumbling growl. "I know, I know. We have to tell the Rangers. That is not one of Gubbitch's orcs, and if it's roaming around the ruins of ..."

"Don't say it," Nik interrupted. "It's bad luck to even say the name."

Warg rolled her eyes. She didn't know where Nik got his ideas, but the Black Tower was not a place she'd ever been and not one she ever had any intention of visiting. Elves had some crazy idea of restoring the slopes of Mount Doom, but in her opinion planting trees would not clear that place of evil. It was best to simply stay away.

"Got any honey cakes left?"

Nik pulled two from his bag. Chewing slowly, they watched the hillside for any sign of their quarry; nothing appeared to be moving, neither up the hill nor back down to the road.

"So who do we tell first? Gubbitch or the Ranger boys?" Warg asked.

Scratching his ear, Nik shrugged. "Maybe it's just passing through."

"And maybe it's a scout for a group coming in from the East."

With a sigh, Nik stood. "There's no way of knowing, is there?"

"Not without tracking it down and making it tell us. And we're not going in there alone, so … Gubbitch or the Rangers?"

"The Rangers," Nik responded after a long moment. "It's their job to know about the roamer. And it's ours to tell them."

"All right then." Warg stood and shook herself, then her eyes brightened. "As it's 'official business', we can use the road."

Nik opened his mouth to protest, then snapped it shut. "It would be faster."

Warg crouched, and Nik mounted. Down the hill they raced, avoiding stunted trees and tumbled boulders by a hair until they reached the King's Highway.

Broad and level, the product of years of toil by crews led by dwarvish engineers and surveyors appointed by the King's Council, the road ran from Minas Tirith past the ruins of the Black Gate and north across the Wilderland to the banks of the River Running. Today, their route led south. With the Ephel Dúath towering on their left and the marshes of the Wetwang on their right, Warg and her rider thundered down the middle of the road. No obstacles slowed them and there were no travelers to scatter, though in their hearts they almost wish to come across a few.

Mile after mile they ran. The road curved west and the heights of the Ephel Dúath were blocked by the towering trees of Northern Ithilien. Swampland was replaced by thickets and copses of young trees planted in the years since the War by the elves who now made these woods their home. A stone bridge arched over a thin stream and a startled deer hurtled into the protection of the trees.

Nik laughed, and leaned forward with a joyous shout.

All too soon, the lands to their right became a fallow field with three cows and a small herd of goats. The grazing livestock raised their heads to stare at the swiftly moving pair; but save for a belligerent buck who reared up and stood glaring long after they passed, their interest was fleeting. The animals had become accustomed to sights far more unusual.

As the Inn of the Burping Troll came into sight, Warg slowed. The chickens housed near the inn's barn would be sure to raise a ruckus if she dashed into the courtyard at full speed. Upset chickens would upset the hobbits, who would scold and nag. Furthermore, news of a strange orc roaming the hills was not news Warg wanted the hobbits worrying about. Better they keep to the business of feeding the Troll's guests and residents.

Nik slipped off Warg's back as they reached the porch. "Where is everyone?"

Warg raised her head and sniffed. "Kitchen. It's a baking day." Then she led the way to the long narrow building that stood to the south of the inn. "Celebsul's in his workroom."

"But we need to see Captain Halbarad," insisted Nik.

"Don't smell any men around. Just hobbits and elves. So we'll go see Celebsul, and maybe he'll know where the Rangers are."

A frown crossed Nik's face and for a moment Warg wondered if he was going to get stubborn. Ever since the hearing last year when some lord had declared Nik a citizen of the realm, subject to all the laws and rights inherent to a free man, the little orc had become a stickler about doing what was right and proper.

"All right." Nik shrugged off his pack and began brushing at the mud caked on his trousers and shirt.

"If you could see what you look like, you'd know that is not going to help."

Nik held out his arms and looked at them, then down at his chest and legs. Finally, he turned and studied Warg. "Well, you don't look any better."

"Wasn't my idea to go mucking about the marshes," retorted Warg.

"Good thing we did though, wasn't it?" Nik asked. "Otherwise, we'd not know about..."

"Which we need to tell someone about rather than worry how pretty we are. Come on."

Warg made her way to the workshop door and raised a paw to pull down the handle. Celebsul had tasked his apprentice, Aerio, with the creation of a door knob that Warg could operate without leaving teeth marks on the hardware. Unlike many things the mechanically minded elf produced, this was kept deliberately simple, and therefore worked a treat.

After taking a moment to wipe her feet, just to prove that she too had manners, Warg entered the workshop. Fresh cut pine, paint and the sharp scent of turpentine filled the room, as well as the aroma of stew and fresh bread from a tray on the edge of a well organized workbench. Nik, who chose to remove his mud encrusted boots, followed on red stocking feet with his hands clasped tightly behind his back and eyes wide with wonder at the assorted projects scattered about the room.

Setting aside his tools, a silver haired elf rose to greet them with a solemn smile. "I hope your journey proved enjoyable. You," eyes shone with a brief flash of humor, "appear to have found an interesting route."

Warg snorted. "If by interesting you mean muddy, then it was. But mud wasn't the most interesting thing we found." Warg stopped and peered at the elf intently. "There's something wrong. I can smell it."

Celebsul nodded and the humor faded from his eyes. "Disturbing news has arrived. But first, you look as if you've traveled hastily. For enjoyment or because of what you discovered in the marsh?"

The elf waved Nik to a sturdy stool, set a mug of cider before him, then into a metal bowl he poured half the stew and settled it on the floor while presenting the remainder to Nik. When his guests were tended, Celebsul raised an inquiring eyebrow.

Knowing that prying information from the elf would be nigh impossible, Warg slurped down the stew and allowed Nik to tell of the stranger in the swamp. When Nik had finished, Celebsul turned his eyes to Warg.

Warg licked a spot of gravy from her paw, then asked, "What could it have been digging up? Stones, like Gubbitch's boys find in the hills? Or plants like Sevilodorf collects?"

Only Warg's intimacy with the elf allowed her to see the concern that darkened the elf's eyes at the mention of Sevilodorf. What had the Rohirrim healer gotten herself into this time?

"There are many useful plants in the wetlands," replied Celebsul. "So I suppose it is possible that this unknown orc was looking one. What I find most puzzling, even disturbing, is that you say it returned to the hills near the Morannan."

"More to the south. Across from the slag mounds," said Warg, looking to Nik for help in describing the location.

"The man holds," muttered Nik. "It was heading that way."

Celebsul studied the little orc without speaking. Nik hung his head. "Some of Gubbitch's boys told me about them. They said Gubbitch would skin them if they went near them."

Celebsul placed his hand on Nik's shoulder. "Gubbitch is right in telling his lads to avoid any remnants of the Dark Lord's fortresses. There is the possibility, especially for those who once labored under his control, lingering spells would lead to terrible consequences."

"As is often the case, troubles do not travel alone, but in groups." The elf lowered his head and closed his eyes in thought. After several minutes, he said, "You were right to bring this matter to the Troll. The Rangers will need to know and be on watch for this stranger. As will Gubbitch and all who roam the hills."

"Like Sevilodorf," Warg stated softly. Many times, the Rangers and Sevilodorf's companion, Anardil, had requested Warg act as guard to the woman as she went about her work. While the Rohirrim trader strongly resented the implication she could not look after herself, as time passed she came to accept Warg's company as that of a friend.

"Yes, like Sevilodorf."

"Tell us, Cel. What troubles have followed her home this time?"

"If only they had come home," Celebsul said. He explained that five days ago news had reached the Troll that Anardil, long away on a mission to the northeast, was believed dead. The report, a mix of speculation and fragile evidence, had the Rangers, all long time comrades of Anardil, mired in the depths of despair. Sevilodorf, to everyone's consternation, had stated clearly that she did not believe the report and then retreated into an impenetrable silence. At the moment, the Burping Troll Rangers, save for Bob and Morling, had traveled to Henneth Annûn to learn more and to receive their orders.

"Poor Sevilodorf," said Nik. "To not know for certain would be the hardest thing."

"She is certain," said Celebsul. "Certain that Anardil will return."

"But..." Nik's face twisted in confusion.

"Stranger things have happened," growled Warg. "Leave her alone."

"To a point that has been my suggestion as well," said Celebsul. "As for the stranger you have discovered, we will inform Bob, as Ranger in charge. Also Gubbitch, as he and his lads are most likely to come across our visitor. And of course, Russbeorn. All of us will watch our borders carefully."

"And our people. We will not lose others of the pack," Warg stated in a growl.

On another evening a few weeks later and far more chill with the breath of winter, Nik emerged from the barn after seeing to the animals, bringing with him an unusually large sack of honey cakes. Warg had not been waiting long enough to get irritated at the delay, but her nose twitched interestedly at the sack of cakes. Good food was never to be missed, after all. Nik tossed her one of the cakes.

"Teach knows we may be gone a few days this time," said Nik as he clambered astride Warg. "When I told him we were going to stay out until we followed it home, he said…" He paused to adopt a fair imitation of the big man's most bearlike growl, starting off light but growing more ominous toward the end of the impersonation. "Good. Now maybe I can sleep in peace. You watch that strange orc and make sure it keeps away from here."

They set out hunting. The trail took a bit of time to find, but soon it was evident that the stranger was once again heading into the swamp, a place the Rangers and Gubbitch's group were more than willing to leave to Nik and Warg. For the past few nights, they had observed the orc filling a bag, then retreating back into the hills. Nik had finally noticed a red tint to the water around where the orc was doing its cutting into the muck, but they still had no idea what it sought.

Each time previously, they had believed they were growing closer and closer to its hideout. But always the return trail was lost in the foothills, as neither footprints nor smells keep well on hard rock. Always the orc kept itself cloaked and hooded when out in the swamp or on the roads, as if it didn't wish to be known. There was no hiding its race from the nose of a warg, but most humans would perhaps think it a child while the cloak was up. Tonight though, they were determined no disguise or woodcraft would allow it to slip away. They left their prey to its collecting; and a point above where it frequently crossed the road to head into the Ephel Dúath, they settled to wait.

In the end, it was a dusting of snow that aided Nik in tracking its prints, and they discovered where it went every day. A deep sheltered cleft in the mighty wall comprising the western border of the land once called Mordor concealed the entrance behind rock that narrowed almost to the point of coming together. Then, they spent hours searching out a spot from which they could see the entrance to what appeared to be a rather large den that had been lived in for several months. Perched on a ledge scarcely wider than her body, Warg sniffed delicately, analyzing the smells, some of which were potent enough that Nik could detect them with his relatively less sensitive nose.

"It is heavy with the scents of the orc, food, running water, leather, fire, metal, freshly cut wood and some others I don't even recognize. The musk of the orc is still the faintest, though, Nik."

"I smell chemicals for working hides," Nik added.

"That would be the odd ones, then," decided Warg.

They lingered for several days, believing themselves out of the strange orc's knowledge, but mysteriously, starting on the third day of their watch, kills were left outside the cave.


	2. Who Watches the Watcher?

Chapter Two

Who Watches the Watcher?

Mid morning, Early December S.R. 1423

Though haunted by dreams of her brief journey into Mordor, Garlakh was not oblivious to the world around her. She was being stalked. Two nights ago she saw eyes and by the light of dawn this morning, the fresh tracks of one alpha warg, to judge by its size. Oddly enough it seemed to be only one alpha with no accompanying pack. The orc sighed as she dumped yet another sack of ore into her bin. She had faced wargs before, and it was never an easy fight. Hopefully, it would not come to that.

She changed into her mail again, even though she knew she'd not be going out until that night. Long years' experience taught that an unarmed and unarmored orc was soon a dead one. The only reason she did not wear her mail in the swamp was because she needed all her carrying capacity to bring out the ore.

Garlakh was careful to keep focused upon her task. Lately, any time her mind wandered thoughts of her recent trip into Mordor intruded and set her mood swinging between fear an inexplicable satisfaction, akin to that felt when working at the forge. Or perhaps, more similar to the feeling of rising from the ashes in her tribe's den far to the north. In dreams, she always yielded to her old master; often, she woke with the fear that she might again. As had always been true, her memories were clearest when at the forge. So as much for comfort as for need, to the forge she returned. She spent blissful hours working an ingot that would, when formed fully, be refined iron as good as any from her long missed mountain home, then took a nap in preparation for another ore run. Again her dreams were troubled, as the voice of her erstwhile master vied with images of eyes and tracks.

A similar scene repeated itself the next day as Garlakh returned from another trip with the knowledge that it was not only an alpha warg stalking her, but one with a rider. That, she knew, would make a fight more difficult if it came to one. She was in no mood to borrow trouble, though, and set to work again on the ingot, then on a bowstring, unaware at first that eyes watched her from the far side of a boulder-blocked passage.

In their explorations over the last few days, Warg and Nik had picked up several bits of knowledge. The lone orc appeared to be just that, alone, and had made no effort to meet with any other of her kind, nor with anyone of any other kind. They also found what ought to have been another entrance to her den. But one that was blocked. Whether by accident or design, they had not yet determined. Warg didn't like to approach the den due to the near constant use of fire and more than that, the unknown motives of the orc, but Nik decided they wouldn't get any more knowledge unless at least one of them did.

Leaving Warg napping on the narrow ledge, he crept down the tunnel and dropped into a crouch by a small crack between the wall of the tunnel and the large boulder that looked to have been placed there to block off the passage. The ceiling looked stable enough that it did not seem to be a piece that had fallen. He nudged the boulder once, then again a little harder. It didn't so much as wiggle, so he knew there would be no entrance for him this way. He put his eye to the crack.

Something like a shock ran through Nik. He blinked, looked again, realized he really did see what he thought he saw, then watched avidly. The first thing he noticed was that it isn't a 'he' at all. It was clearly a she. The females of Isengard had always been used for breeding. Sharku, as the wizard Saruman had been called, would never have thought to use a female for smithing. Nik was spellbound as he watched her collect a few brown rocks from the bin, melt them down and add them into what looked to be a rounded ingot, arms flexing rhythmically as sparks flew from the metal in response to each hammer blow. Clearly nothing had gone wrong in this one's breeding; she looked like she could do that all day and night and it was at least as hard as anything Nik had ever done, even when building the house with Teach and the rest of his friends from the Troll. He could just see her eyes if she turned a certain way, more intelligent and far calmer than he'd ever seen on an orc of any kind. Though she was dressed in battered mail with an old bow and several other weapons close at hand, she didn't have a menacing air. She genuinely smiled as she worked, what Nik had come to recognize since the war's end as a contented smile without malice. Nik had never seen that until he met Teach.

He continued to contemplate the stranger quietly. She was certainly pure orc, with no features to indicate any human cross-breeding. There were signs to indicate whether an orc had been bred and it was just as clear to Nik this one never had. That was odd. It seemed plain she'd have added something to someone's line if they'd bred her, but she couldn't have been constantly used both for breeding stock and forging. Still it was a bit surprising they never assigned her to take a year or two off at some point and see if they could have gotten some whelps out of her. And none of this answers who she is or why she's here, Nik reminded himself.

Suddenly the cave fell silent save the faint ripple of a stream as she left the metal to cool. She left Nik's line of sight for a moment, allowing a better view of at least a portion of the cave's interior, which seemed to be a simple but complete work area for metal, wood and leather.

The stranger returned with several lengths of animal sinew and a pot of water as the click of claws on rock and the brush of a wet nose announced Warg's approach from behind Nik. The orc took out her old bow and looked it over, seeming to decide it had had all the use it was good for and tossing it into the embers of the forge fire before reaching for a piece of wood she'd already shaped, inspecting it with a satisfied nod and laying it aside.

Warg, not in a position to look through the crack, whispered impatiently, "What do you see?"

"You're right," Nik answered. "One orc, alone, a smith of some kind. Female. That stuff she's gathering in the marsh is some kind of ore. I watched her work on an ingot. She did it differently than in Isengard."

"Anyone visit her while I was asleep? I don't remember any strange scents, but I was far gone for a bit."

"No one. She seems completely alone."

"Passed by another entrance and saw only one sleeping pallet. Wonder if Gubbitch knows her."

"Don't know. He didn't mention her when we were hauling stones last week."

"As long as she continues to not threaten the pack I'll be happy, but she'll have to meet Gubbitch and the Ranger boys sooner rather than later."

"Mm-hm. Rangers won't like knowing there's an orc smith set up out here and not accounted for. Depending on what she knows how to make, if she were to band with the wrong lads, they could be trouble for Teach, travelers or the Troll. Look at her."

Nik moved aside as quietly as he could so Warg could look closely at the busy orc through the crack. "The lads in Isengard during the war could only wish they'd had that quality of armor. Even as beat-up as it is, I figure it's lasted her for years and was made with more care than our smiths ever put into anything. I wonder what man she killed for it."

Warg looked and gave an indifferent canine shrug. "Second skins aren't my thing. I'm glad I don't wear one. I know that would be hard to bite through, and that's all I know about them."

"The only orcs I ever saw wearing armor like that got it off dead riders, or said they did anyway and always had to defend that boast with their lives."

There wasn't much to say to that and the subject changed to lunch as the orc continued working on her bow. She finished and moved out of sight, this time not returning. The last thing Nik and Warg saw her do was pick up a bar of unscented soap. They left in search of a good meal, agreeing they both wanted more answers before reporting back.

Garlakh, having listened silently as she worked, decided that if they were willing to let her live in relative peace as long as she caused no harm, she would not have to kill them. She was puzzled and troubled, though. Who was Gubbitch, what were rangers and what did the two have to do with one another? Were the rangers the tarks she avoided? Gubbitch sounded like an orcish enough name, but it seemed unlikely he was a ranger himself, if that were the case. She struggled with something almost like the panic she remembered from just after the downfall of her former master as she heard them talking about her having to report to this Gubbitch. The idea of having another master was frightening to her, especially since her brief sojourn in Mordor. Nonetheless she considered how to let them know she intended no harm as she gathered yet another load of ore that night, finally deciding that perhaps food would do the trick.

A couple of boars obliged her by trying to make her their own dinner, and as she struggled back to the cave with both ore and carcasses, she studied the sky by the light of another oncoming dawn, though it was dim behind piling clouds over the mountains to the east. She sighed, her breath misting in front of her face. It was going to be bitter cold in a few nights. She knew she'd have to finish up that blanket. What if they were still stalking her, though? By the look of the sky it was going to be cold enough not to be fit for tark, orc or beast. She decided she had enough heat from the forge and fire-pit that she could probably survive with her old cloak for a while longer yet. If they were still watching her, she would leave them the blanket. Still haunted by her dreams and fears, she dared not approach them even now, though the tracks in the snow led around the hill to what had once been the secondary entrance to her den. If they were smart enough to sleep there, so much the better for them.

"We slipped up somehow," Warg proclaimed as she dragged the carcass away a short distance with Nik at her side. "She hasn't done anything to the meat, though. Smells all right, so which parts do you want?"

They split the carcass and prepared it each according to their own liking. It was big enough for several meals worth and they noticed that the strange orc roasted some and smoked some for later in the winter when game would be scarcer. The meat was a guilty pleasure for Nik. He never got to eat meat with Teach, who dined on the meat of no animal except for the occasional indulgence of fish.

They continued to track her as she worked on stockpiling her ore and meat, learning that she could make both weapons and armor, including a length of what appeared to be mail like she wore when not in the swamp. She still made no attempt to meet anyone else – not even her stalkers, though she left them some kind of food every day and, to Nik's further shock, a blanket on a night that turned out to be especially bitter. It was made of a bearskin with the black fur still on, so Teach would likely not want it in the house. Nik first thought to trade it to Sevilodorf or Gubbitch, but it occurred to him that though she'd been here for months, the stranger's belongings were ragged enough that this was likely meant for her own bed. He decided he would return it when they left, though it didn't stop him and Warg from curling up beneath it and being very grateful for the loan of it. Warg was even willing to tolerate the scent of the forge for the residual heat that came through the crack.

With everything done but actually talking to the orc, Warg and Nik decided to head back home. The Rangers would be expecting a report, and Teach would be more than ready for a long uninterrupted sleep. The orc was clearly settling in, and they were in serious want of some hobbit cooking. The talking to her was going to be the hard part, but they would try it tonight while she was out. They had both caught the signs of troubled dreams when they lingered while the orc napped.


	3. The Chasm of Fear

Chapter 3

The Chasm of Fear

" _How dare you come here, snaga? You escaped the war, but it availed you nothing and by my will it will not. Join me. You dare to defy me? I forbid it! There is no question for you to answer. If you think to keep drawing breath, you will serve me."_

The voice was insistent, clearer than it had been in waking life because in dreams like this, all languages are one and the dreamer had never had the chance to learn much of the Black Speech of Mordor in which the words had originally been spoken. The orc on the sleeping pallet thrashed desperately as if in some great struggle, the tattered warg-fur cloak that served as her blanket in the absence of the newer one she had left her trackers slipping from her body and leaving the newly-made cloak of white rabbit fur as her only effective cover from the increasing chill of oncoming night. Armor, as any soldier could attest, was no help at all, taking on the temperature of its surrounding environment, hot when the body within craved cooling and cold when it wanted warming. The orc had learned well over a century past that it was unsafe to sleep without armor and no longer felt the discomfort, her body long since having trained itself on what positions were best for sleep and quick recovery when rudely roused. The forge's fires were long cold and the fire she kept in the fire-pit had gone out while she slept. The feather-stuffed bag she used as a pillow had slid off the pallet and several inches across the cave floor, sliding from under her head with a faint thump-swish that failed to rouse her from her troubled slumber. The same images that had bedeviled her for the last few months raced across her mind as the voice continued to speak.

" _You will help me to return. I must gather my power slowly, but there is time, and the men of the downfallen west will again learn to fear. I will return with your service. You must serve me as the price for your insolence. Anything that comes here is mine to take and use. There is no choice for you, who were made according to the designs of Morgoth, greatest of the Powers, whose will I have done these many years. YOU ARE MINE!"_

At this last desperate shout from the voice, Garlakh woke with a strangled inarticulate gasp and horrible start, bashing the back of her head on the pallet with a thunk and a curse in her native dialect. Her heart pounded and her breathing was rapid and harsh. This was where the dream usually ended. If it went longer, it diverged from reality. It never continued to the point where she had, in real life, stood up from the piled ashes that had rained down from Mount Doom those years ago and firmly and finally rejected that voice and all the commands it had tried to give as it spoke. The knowledge of what had actually happened brought the orc scant comfort as she yet had little trust in herself and less occasion to develop any in anyone else, nor had she yet learned the significance of what happened in that haunted and cursed land. She recovered pillow and cloak and lay still for several minutes letting her body's reactions fade, but as happened too often since she left Mordor, nagging discomfort stayed with her and darkened her mood.

Finally she sat up again, more prudently this time, and looked out the entrance to her den. The last rays of daylight were fading, leaving just enough light for her to recognize that it had to be cloudy outside. Indeed as she watched, the first flakes of the night's snowfall drifted down to kiss the ground and then to stick. She sighed. It would be a miserably cold and long night; but with just one more ore run, she would be set for the remainder of the winter.

She stood, tossing the tattered cloak on the pallet, then went to do the things all living things must every so often, though she took more care to clean up after herself than most of her kind ever did. She changed into lighter and more flexible armor. She drank her fill of water from the stream and gathered a slab of roasted meat before collecting a knife and sack, then pulled up her hood and stepped out into the night, still licking the remnants of her hasty and cold breakfast from her lips.

"Time, Warg," Nik said quietly as the orc slipped out of her cave.

"…curled up on the hearth rug with a nice big soup bone, still hot mind you – oh, right, so it is." Warg drew herself back from a running commentary on what she'd like to be doing and eating right this instant as Nik mounted.

Warg tracked the orc by scent without needing Nik's help this night. It was relatively easy. The path was the same each night and despite the snowfall's steady increase, less of it stuck as they moved to lower lands. The winds were relatively calm and didn't shift much. Deep into the swamp they went again.

They stayed back as usual for the first part of the trip, gradually closing the distance as the orc started gathering. She was wary as ever, and they made sure to keep their approach discrete by closing up only when she was looking the other way. Warg and Nik exchanged occasional sharp-toothed grins, though the joy of tracking a prey so predictable was limited. Warg was bored of following the exact same path and had been making silent plans for a little joke she wanted to pull. Finally the orc's sack was nearly full and she bent for what Nik estimated to be the last rock she would collect tonight. They approached on a firm patch of ground, Warg's steps silent in the almost nonexistent snow cover at this lower elevation.

"Hello. You should look behind you more often. Heh heh heh—" Warg was laughing and pleased with herself for coming up on the strange orc undetected, but less pleased with the reaction it got and her laughter died in an instant.

The orc dropped her knife and rock into her bag. In what seemed a single motion, she leapt to one side onto firmer ground and spun with a self-directed curse to meet the surprise, a mace and long dagger appearing in hand in an instant. Both were much used, clearly old and near the end of their service, but maintained as well as could be devised. Once in a ready position, the orc did not charge, however, merely balanced on the balls of her feet a couple yards away, sizing up the pair of them. Nik squeaked in dismay and Warg bared her teeth in equal surprise at the reaction to a trick gone wrong. The moment of stillness stretched to two, then three. Warg sniffed and Nik watched. Both knew the signs of an orc ready for a fight and analyzed the stranger in their own ways. Scent and posture indicated that though this one would fight well if pressed, she was not eager to start the bloodletting.

Nik raised his hands showing his lack of weapon and Warg lowered herself slightly, not low enough to be a posture of submission, but rather the wargish equivalent of a silent apology. The silence lingered for a few more seconds, then was broken by the slide of metal against leather.

"You've been following me." The voice was soft and of a medium pitch, clearly female, gravelly but not quite the harsh croak typical of an orc. "I recognize your eyes."

"We have. It's my job to make sure you're no threat to my pack," Warg answered.

The orc's eyebrows twitched under her helm as she peered around into the comparatively light darkness of the snowy night. There was no pack of wargs visible.

"Your pack?"

"Long story," said the warg. "They're not the kind of pack you're used to seeing, but they're mine and not to be harmed."

The strange orc digested this for a moment, eyes flitting between the warg and rider. She remembered several wargs from her time in the mountains of Mirkwood, and all had their pride, especially so the females.

"Who are you?" Her gaze directed the question to Warg.

"Warg."

"Yes, I know you're a warg."

Warg growled in faint irritation. "I AM Warg. It's my name."

The orc was silent a moment, remembering Ekkja, Blackfang and all the wargs of the resident pack she'd known over her century in Mirkwood. It confused her that this one didn't have a name other than Warg. She stared long enough to confuse Warg, who thought the matter was perfectly obvious, then finally looked away.

"Interesting." The silence returned as she directed her gaze to Nik.

"I'm Nik," he said cheerfully in contrast to Warg's earlier irritation. "Once of Isengard."

The orc sized Nik up with interest. Small, but she'd seen smaller, and far feebler than this one looked. He was getting good feed from somewhere other than her food offerings of the last few days. There was something unusual in his eyes, too, she noted.

"I am Garlakh, once of the Grey Mountains, then of Mirkwood." The orc finally introduced herself, pulling back her hood despite the frigid night so they could see her.

"What do you intend here, Garlakh?" Warg's irritation was somewhat tempered, though her tone was far from welcoming.

"To live quiet."

"How does that tally with all the stuff you're forging?" This time it was Nik. Garlakh blinked and stared at him.

"We watched you several days ago from that tunnel that's been blocked up with a boulder."

She continued to stare, then grunted and nodded. "Right, I remember hearing you talk. I've heard rumor of some orcs and tarks living together. Figure I might have something to offer if—"

She trailed off, her eyes going distant and Warg caught the sudden scent of apprehension. Nik, who had no such sensitive nose, pressed on, pleasantly surprised at the clarity of this orc's speech. He had thought, based on all his other experience with orcs, that only Isengarders spoke that well.

"Does Gubbitch know you're here?"

"Gubbitch?" Garlakh was still distant. "Who's Gubbitch?"

"The orc leader here. You'll have to report to him. Every one of us has got to be under him, or at least known to him anyway. Teach – that is Russbeorn- is who I actually live with. Gubbitch is the orc chief here, and if we want the protection of the King's laws he has to know about us. It's the only way you'll be able to work with the men here."

But something had gone very wrong, Warg realized halfway through Nik's explanation. She sniffed, hackles rising as Garlakh's scent went from apprehensive to full on panic. Warg sniffed again, analyzing the various layers of the scent. It reminded her of how Ranger Elanna smelled during her shadow-times, when she was haunted by her memories of Nurn. Garlakh wasn't even hearing Nik right now, Warg decided. This was different than she'd ever smelled on an orc. Panic, yes, but a panicked orc in a fight had a different scent than this. It was a subtle difference, but present. Still this orc was an unknown quantity and Warg braced herself to fight. But it was unnecessary as Garlakh suddenly bounded off through the swamp, far quicker than she had any right to go with that many rocks on her back and mud around her feet, leaving Nik stuttering in shock as he explained the relationship the local band of orcs had with the denizens of the Burping Troll.

"Was it something I said?" Nik asked plaintively.

"Not your fault, I think," Warg reassured her friend. "She smelled as Elanna did before she got healed. I think she's got some demons haunting her."

"We should track her just long enough to see what she's going to do, then tell Gubbitch all we've learned about her and ask how he wants to handle her," suggested Nik after a moment's thought.

Warg gave her consent to this plan by silently setting off on the orc's trail. They tracked Garlakh just long enough to be sure that she was returning to her den. Both agreed it was unlikely she would abandon it given all the work she'd put in to make it suit her.

"You'll have to report to Gubbitch. Every one of us has to be under him. Every one of us … under him."

Nik's words bounced around in a distorted echo in Garlakh's mind to mingle with _"You must serve me!"_ from her dreams. She never wanted to serve anyone again. Nik's declaration appeared a demand that she take a new master. She'd heard nothing of how doing so would get her under the protection of the Tark king, nor what that protection might gain her. She'd only heard that she had to serve again. She would rather die. But after a few leagues of lugging a bag of ore at an intemperate pace, even the body of an orc needed a breather and she slowed, her mind calming. Might there be a way to do it without having to give her will over to someone else? She looked around for Warg and Nik, but saw no one. They were staying well back now if they were even following. She turned up into the foothills.

"We've seen 'er in th' 'ills," Gubbitch said as he spoke to Nik the next day.

Warg had gone back to the Troll to pass on their findings regarding the newcomer and left Nik the task of informing the orc chieftain before returning to Russ' farm to tend his duties there. Seated cross-legged on a stone by a well tended fire, Gubbitch offered his visitor half a partridge. When Nik declined, the other orc shrugged and finished plucking the feathers before ripping a leg from the carcass and chewing noisily.

Speaking around his meal, Gubbitch added, "Bits an' bobs she left behind, that is. Kep' an eye out for 'er since you'm caught 'er in th' swamp. Cap'n said tell 'im if'n we found her. Truth be," Gubbitch winked at Nik, "... we ain't had no luck meetin' up 'cause Ah told my lads to give 'er space since she ain't causin' trouble. Ah'm waitin' fer 'er to come ter me."

"She won't come to you," said Nik, choosing for the moment to ignore the fact that Gubbitch had just admitted to lying to Captain Halbarad. "She didn't even know about you, or at least not your name. Unless you followed her back to her den, it's possible she might never have seen you."

Gubbitch shook his head, and threw a bone toward the fire. "We ain't followed 'er. Jest made certain sure she weren't threatenin' travelers."

Nik nodded at that and continued to explain what he'd learned of the strange female.

"She avoids people... even our kind of people. When she knew Warg and I were watching her and overheard us talking, she left us food, but she didn't try to meet us. She's leary, and Warg thinks she's got something haunting her. When I tried to explain to her that she had to report to you, she ran away."

Gubbitch considered that a moment. "Tha say she's a good smith an' 'ideshaper? Try ageen. 'n keep tryin if tha have to. If tha can get 'er ter talk ter thee ageen, have 'er come ter th' trade meetin' wi' Sev next week. It'll take 'er a few months to make enough ter trade, but it'll do 'er good to see us 'n men on good terms. It really will be better fer both o' us if she comes ter me rather than me an' th' lads 'avin to dig 'er out. Ah'll go to tha Troll and talk to Cap'n."

The benefits of having someone with this Garlakh's skills in Gubbitch's band were not lost on Nik, but in this they all needed to follow the king's rules. He could sympathize with the female's evident desire to avoid being dominated again, but they had to make sure she found out what it would really be like and that it had naught to do with domination as she'd known it. Nik knew it had taken Gubbitch and his lads many long months to recognize the differences, and some of the group were not to be trusted alone around people. If Garlakh had been alone for years, she couldn't possibly understand how things were yet. He admired her strength, though, not to have given up all attempts at peaceful living after this long with no known reward. That told him she probably had been made from an elf or at least had elf blood somewhere.

The Rangers had mentioned rumors that a lone mail-clad orc had left a trail of dead bandits in some lonely places, but did not once menace the ordinary traveler. Word was some of the killed bandits had prices on their heads, so long had their lists of offenses been. Nik was certain Gubbitch and Gondar could both find uses for someone with that kind of skill and discipline, but that was a good way off, he reminded himself.

"I don't know how I'll convince her to do that, but I'll do my best," Nik said, scratching his head in thought.

Meanwhile, Warg was talking to Celebsul over the remains of his half-eaten lunch. Having already reported on the orc and her stated intentions to Ranger Bob, she now gave a similar report to the elf and asked his advice.

"I've never smelled anything like that on an orc. Every panicked orc I've ever saw, it had some visible cause and they tended to fight to the death rather than run, as long as their warlords' wills held anyway. This one, though, I think the cause was a memory. It reminded me of Elanna."

Celebsul raised an eyebrow. Elanna, wife of Captain Halbarad and a Ranger in her own right, was highly susceptible to the entrapping power of memory due to her elven heritage and the horrors she had experienced in Nurn. Men and dwarves could also become mired in the past, but never had he heard of an orc being haunted by anything.

"And yet she must eventually come under Gubbitch's sway, for her own protection as well as ours," Celebsul said solemnly as he sanded a new table destined to replace one that had seen one too many parties in the common room of the inn.

"Yes and the question is how to get her to hear us out. Nik and I gnawed on that one while we tracked her back to her den and couldn't figure it out."

Celebsul sanded in thoughtful silence for a couple minutes.

"Peace offering," he said finally, and Warg looked up in confusion. "You said she left you food indicating she would not harm you. Try bringing her some. Hobbit cooking tends to be disarming. Nik reports she was calm while forging. Approach her during or shortly after that. If she has something to occupy her hands and mind, perhaps whatever memory haunts her will retreat enough for her to hear you."

Warg began to say anything this Garlakh might be creating would be sharp and definitely not on the calming side, then stopped and considered the many things Men made of metal: door knobs, horseshoes, tools, and cookware. Maybe she could ask Garlakh to make the hobbits a new set of baking tins. Warg scanned the workroom for other ideas and noticed Celebsul was running low on nails. Nasty things to step on, but they had their uses. Hmm…

"Thanks, Cel."

"You're welcome, but…Warg, don't spook her next time. As amusing as I'm sure it was, it's not the best way to start what you hope to be a friendly conversation with a stranger. Wait until she knows you better before you play any more tricks."

"Awww just a little one?" Warg wheedled, though she knew Cel was right and how easily the meeting could have turned violent.

"No, Warg." Celebsul's eyes warmed with amusement as he played along with the joke.

"Not even a teensy weensy one?"

"No."

"No one appreciates my sense of humor," grumbled Warg.

Celebsul's gentle laughter followed her out of the shop and across the yard to the Troll. Warg had preparations to make.

Nik also had preparations to make. As he tended to his chores around the farm, he'd continued to think about how to arrange the next encounter with Garlakh. He remembered how Teach left him bits of food once he realized he was being followed and what a difference a really good meal made to someone's outlook on life. She seemed to understand the concept of leaving someone food to show you meant no harm, so might the same thing work here? Perhaps a honey cake or two would smooth things a bit. He'd have to bring a few extra when he and Warg met up in a couple days. He wouldn't ask Teach for any of his mead, though. That seemed to be something he gave out only for special occasions, and in any case Nik didn't know if this orc could hold her drink. He remembered the truly awesome fights that used to break out in Isengard over good drink and decided he ought to pass on that. As little as possible should be left to chance this time. He needed her calm. And speaking of calm, he wondered if he could …

When Nik and Warg met up a day and a half later, they set out at first light, keeping well off the road to avoid startling what few travelers there would be during this time of year. The sun was hidden behind threatening black clouds, so light was not a problem for either. Warg was loaded down with a basket of food that left no room for even a pint-sized rider, and Nik had a full pack on his back as he loped along next to her. They bypassed the swamp and turned straight up into the foothills.

"What's in the pack?" Warg asked once they were well out of earshot of anyone. "You smell like you've been in the swamp."

"The usual, and I went and got a few of those rocks like she's been gathering. I hope it's enough."

"Enough for what?"

"To see if she'll do something for us in trade for the ore and while she's working on it, talk to her."

"What are you thinking to have her make?"

Nik shrugged. "Haven't figured that out yet."

"Celebsul needs nails."

"That ought to do nicely," Nik agreed.

Snow began to fall rapidly again as they made it to the mountains in the late afternoon and by the time they reached Garlakh's den, it was piling up behind them. Warg had spent enough time in the mountains to know this one was likely to last all night long and maybe into tomorrow, so she really, really hoped this conversation didn't go badly. She'd have preferred waiting for a break in the weather, but Nik was insistent this be handled as soon as could be. He seemed to think he'd figured out how to handle the skittish female and seemed to have something else in mind on top of the addition of food and rocks. He wasn't telling Warg, though. At first he'd been silent and thoughtful as they climbed, but now he was almost smiling. They moved around to check the tunnel where they'd slept that one night, but the blanket had been moved. Obviously she'd found it, then. They returned to the main entrance and noticed the smell of roasting meat. Nik dismounted, deliberately stepping hard on the rocks that had been laid out to thwart a stealthy approach, then lifted a bit of ore from his pack and reached for the mountain wall.

"What're you planning?" Warg asked.

Nik just grinned.


	4. To Bridge the Chasm

Chapter 4

To Bridge the Chasm

This rabbit was just about ready and not a moment too soon, Garlakh thought as she turned the spit for the last time and ignored the grumbling of her stomach, which was insisting on breakfast. It was hard to know what time it was because of the rapid snowfall outside, but she figured it had to be close to the setting of the Yellow Face. There'd be no White Face tonight from the look of those clouds, not that it mattered. She was staying in tonight and probably for much of the winter. Night was prime forging weather this time of year, as that was when it was coldest. This one she was going over to the forge to start making the -.

Crunch.

Someone was outside her cave, cutting off all thought of her plan for the night. She reached for her weapons, just in case.

Rap rap rap rap rap! A rapid tapping on the mountain wall just outside the entrance echoed around the cave. There was a pause, in which she moved carefully away from the spit, drawing her weapons slowly to keep them from making noise as they came out of their sheaths, then a more deliberate Rap. Rap. Rap.

"What are you doing, Nik?" The growling voice from outside sounded faintly amused.

"Knocking on the door, such as it is. Got to be polite, you know," came the harsh croak of Warg's companion. There was a chuff of wargish laughter. Garlakh laughed softly as well and sheathed her weapons as she made her way to the cave's entrance. She'd hoped these two would turn up again. She had a vague memory of the little uruk, Nik, trying to tell her something. His eyes had not indicated an attempt to frighten or intimidate her. She had given the brief encounter in the swamp quite a bit of thought over the last few days and admitted that she was disgusted at how she'd panicked. She wasn't a bloody weakling snaga and never had been even when she served another, she told herself. Continuous bad sleep or no, she needed better control of herself.

"Hello, you two," was her greeting. "You may as well come in, but I think you're going to be stuck here for a day or two."

"I think you're right," Warg answered, sniffing delicately of the orc's scent. Surprised, but a lot calmer, she decided. That was all to the good. "We brought food."

Garlakh grinned toothily and stepped backward into her den so the others could enter. She studied the warg for a moment as the huge beast entered. Food indeed, if that basket was full. What a basket it was!

"Get this giant basket off me, would you, Nik? And make sure none of the hobbit lasses secreted themselves inside of it!"

As Nik obliged Warg's request, Garlakh turned away and pulled the rabbit off the spit. "This was going to be my breakfast otherwise," she said. Then she disappeared briefly and reappeared with what seemed to be a rug made of another large black bear fur. She unrolled it and tossed it down by the fire-pit.

That was an unexpectedly civilized touch, Warg thought, accepting the tacit invitation and sprawling herself gratefully across it, leaving just enough room for Nik. Warg was too proud to admit it of course, but she was tired from the trek or perhaps from the accumulated treks over the last few weeks. She was going soft, she scolded herself. Too many hobbit treats could do that, even to a warg.

While Warg was getting comfortable, Nik was emptying the basket. There were no hobbit lasses stowed away, of course, but the size of the basket was soon explained. Out came ham, bread, cheese, two sealed pots of stew, along with several things Garlakh had never seen or smelled, some spicy, some sweet, a few somehow seeming to be both.

"Wow, Warg, how long did you tell them we'd be gone?" Nik asked in surprise even as he set the empty basket aside and pulled out his own bundle of honey cakes to add to the feast. He left it wrapped for now.

"I told them it would probably be a few days. They insisted on adding some extras with Yule coming on."

Nik grinned at that reminder. He had come to enjoy Yule since he'd met Teach. He decided to bring a little of that into this meeting. He had business to attempt with this she-uruk, but there was time enough to make haste slowly. All three could hear the wind beginning to howl outside the cave. Nobody was going anywhere this night.

"Got a small pot or kettle to warm some of this up with, Garlakh?" He asked, opening one of the stew pots to display a thick, creamy stew, too much for them to eat all at once.

She did. They warmed up some of the stew and split the pot and one of the bread loaves, using slices of bread for small edible bowls as they shared some of each other's stories from during the war. Over something Nik named apple pie they shared their experiences after the war. Garlakh discovered that apple pie, whatever it was made of, made even this grim subject almost light. She almost held back the way she'd briefly fallen apart in the absence of the band she'd known for the prior century, but watching Nik's eyes it seemed he was holding nothing back from her, so she gave him the same. As the food was settling, Warg had them both laughing uproariously with some of her recollections of the adventurous beginnings of the Burping Troll.

Warg deliberately kept things light. She was starting to understand what Nik was trying to do. He was slicing the loaf the other way, as the hobbits liked to put it when speaking of taking a new approach to a problem when one had failed. He was trying to build a bond with Garlakh so he could explain things better than a meeting in the swamp allowed. She did slip in Gubbitch's name almost as an aside, but did not allow it to lead to pressing Garlakh for anything. There'd hopefully be time to explain all that later. Warg had to admit she approved of Nik's plan, now she saw it in action.

Finally there was a companionable lull in the conversation, and Nik decided to try his first serious play.

"You said you want to do some trade. Is this enough to get us something?"

He pulled out a wrapped bundle from his sack and slid it around the fire-pit to where Garlakh was sitting on her pallet. She opened it and raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Depends what you want."

"Nails. We've got a friend who works wood and needs more," Nik explained.

There was enough ore in that bundle for a lot of nails if she used the least pure form of iron. Her own experience with woodworking told her that was sufficient and might even be better for nails, as something about the impurities helped stave off rust, though it left the metal softer as well, which was what made it less than optimal for weapons and the main parts of armor. The less pure forms didn't hold an edge as well or – she pulled back her runaway thoughts.

"That's easy enough. I can make you several ingots worth with this."

Nik beamed. "Can I watch?"

Garlakh looked over and saw Warg was apparently dozing. That was no great shock. That basket looked like it had been heavy. "Sure, but I think we'll save the hammering for when Warg is awake again. I had other, quieter plans for tonight anyway."

She stoked the low fire again to make sure the warg would be warm enough, then moved over to the forge area, Nik just behind her. She put Nik's ore near the workbench rather than in the bin and reached instead for a collection of wire and some other tools he didn't know.

The deepening night was soon punctuated by the sharp snick of wire cutters as small bits of wire were measured, cut, and set aside for later use. It woke Warg up the first time the sound cut through the noise of the stream that flowed through the back of the cave, but she soon accustomed herself to it and managed to fall into her normal sleeping pattern. After she turned around on the rug, she could see Nik and Garlakh clearly, and contented herself with occasional looks and sniffs to make sure all was well with them.

"What are you going to do with those?" Nik asked quietly.

"They're rivets. They hold things together. I use them a lot, really. Just about any decent armor needs them, and so do a lot of other things. For that matter, there's probably some in that pot you brought the stew in." Garlakh explained. Nik nodded and watched. It had never been of much import to him to wonder how things were put together as long as they did what they should, but he thought he might pay more attention to it after helping with building the house and well and now seeing this. It was monotonous work, he had to admit to himself, but she did it patiently, paying as much attention to the one a couple dozen on as she did to the first. When Warg had slept herself out, Garlakh fired up the forge and molded Nik's ore into several ingots, then set them aside to cool for the next night's work. At whiles through the night Nik would produce some treat or other from the basket of hobbity goodness Warg had brought.

Finally as she worked, he adopted the tone of the storyteller he'd learned from Teach and told her of what had happened to him since the end of the war up until the night he'd had to kill the man Grady. Given her lack of apparent hesitation in killing bears, he made sure she knew what to look for to protect Teach even though he didn't often come this far into the mountains. He had only done so on that one night, Nik remembered. Garlakh promised to only kill bears well away from the borders of Russ's lands unless the bear in question attacked her first. There he stopped, for so did she, and he was building up to something anyway. Best not to overburden her. They were going to be here at least one more night.

The faint light of dawn was just visible as they reached the end of the cave that served as living quarters. Warg let herself out to take care of business and returned with the report that they were indeed snowed in, and though the sky was still cloudy and snow was still falling, it seemed they'd seen the worst of the storm. Garlakh and Nik decided it was time to have dinner, then get some sleep and leave the watch to Warg.

"Here, you'll need this again." she picked the blanket off her pallet and tossed it to Nik. He grinned and curled up on the rug Warg had abandoned, wrapping the blanket around himself. Life was good. Warg was nearby and things were going as he hoped they would with Garl—did he dare call her just Garl? He gave a mental shrug. Something to find out later, he decided, falling into a deep untroubled sleep.

Nik woke first in the late afternoon, and not by his own will. A sound brought him out of sleep. He looked around and noticed Warg watching Garlakh with about as much concern as a Warg's face could show. Nik looked, too. She was clearly sleeping badly, tossing on her pallet and muttering in an orcish dialect unfamiliar to him. The old cloak that served as her blanket slid off her, wadding up on the cave floor, and her pillow went the other way. Nik dithered and looked to Warg for help. He knew better than to startle someone from a sleep who was armed as well as this one was. Warg shrugged uncertainly. She had no idea how to comfort a stranger. A sloppy kiss wouldn't do the trick here. She wasn't yet pack and wasn't awake enough to recognize the source or intent of it.

Nik closed his eyes, thinking, remembering peaceful nights on the farm after his chores were done and how Russ often hummed when mending his clothes. It put Nik straight to sleep without fail. It was always something gentle, almost wistful. He tried to remember one of the songs. Ah that one would do nicely, something about the joys of being with family, though he couldn't remember the lyrics. Just as well, he knew he wasn't a great singer, but it was all he had. The fighting Uruk-hai song would be no help, he was sure. He tapped the sole of his left boot lightly with a clawed fingertip, setting the tempo, then started humming softly. It was off-key, he knew, but it seemed not to matter this time. The effect was gradual, but definite, profound, and exhilarating to one who had never done anything like this before.

The same images and voice as always played across her mind. _"…and the men of the downfallen west will again learn to fear."_

Suddenly the demanding voice of her erstwhile overlord was mingling with something strange, moving and rhythmic, the recently monotonous voice suddenly rippling up and down gently if uncertainly, wobbling slightly, then beginning to fade slowly until it could not be heard at all, leaving only the other sound. The images began to blur, then fade into a mist; soon even the mist was gone. Then that image faded and the focus was on the sound as she drifted closer to consciousness. It wasn't one she'd ever heard during the war. It was music, her drowsy mind realized, but not a song she'd heard before, though an orcish voice was surely delivering it this time. There was something soft about it. She vaguely remembered she had company. The coarse humming continued, though it seemed to come from different places around her at different times. Then there was something warm and heavy over her and something soft under her head. This should have startled her, but she could sense no threat and gradually drifted back into a deeper sleep.

Once Garlakh had stilled completely, Nik cautiously covered her again with the good blanket, then gently slid her pillow under her head again. There'd be no more sleep for him, so she might as well use it and sleep herself out. He knew from his time with Teach that bad dreams tended to leave people cranky, though he'd never suffered from that malady himself. Stoking the fire, he decided he'd start breakfast, and some honey cakes would definitely be part of the menu. He exchanged a sharp-toothed celebratory grin with Warg.

A thought kept nagging at him as he set the last of the meaty stew over the fire to warm. "Warg, could you understand her?"

"Partly," Warg replied. "The dialects were different between where I used to live and the Grey Mountains, but some of them were related. I think she was saying she'd never do something again."

Nik absorbed that quietly and waited for Garlakh to wake. And waited. And waited. The smell of the simmering stew did nothing to rouse her. She was clearly exhausted, he saw now, as the sun set outside with little stirring from the pallet. How long had she been struggling with those dreams and just how much sleep had they cost her? What was it she was vowing never to do again?

Finally when Nik was about five minutes from serving the stew and making some deliberate racket to try to rouse her, Garlakh's eyes opened groggily. She sat up and blinked in surprise as she looked toward the entrance, judging the light – except that there was none. What happened? What time was it? She felt more refreshed than she had in months. She remembered her sleep had not been dreamless, but somehow this time she did not wake afraid. Why? A fragment of off-key humming echoed in her memory.

"Have a good sleep?" The question came softly, and she looked to see Nik holding a slice of stew-covered bread out to her. She took it and nodded. She had had the best sleep since her first night in this cave when, instead of demanding voices and orders to kill, she had dreamed of forging.

The breakfast of bread, stew and honey cakes was dispensed with in short order as Warg continued to regale them with stories from daily life at the Troll, then once Warg was made aware of the heat and noise to come, Garlakh and Nik moved off to the forge.

"Gonna need shovels," Garlakh observed. "We've got snow to move once the forge work is done." This was obvious to both. The snow was no longer falling, but it was deep enough that Nik and Warg would have trouble leaving. She made the shovels the first order of business, letting the heads cool as she worked on the nails Nik wanted. Talking to her wasn't possible while she was hammering the iron into the shapes she needed for the night's work, but once it became a matter of chiseling and filing the sharpened points of nails, Nik began to talk again, though not without plying his captive audience with more hobbit treats. They would be unhappy if the basket came back with a lot in it.

He continued the tale from right after Grady's death, telling of when he'd promised to plead his case before the steward of the realm. Garlakh dropped the chisel in surprise and stared at Nik, which caused him to laugh heartily. "Yeah, the men looked just like that. And Teach couldn't understand. He was sure it wouldn't be a fair hearing, but I'd given my word and he couldn't and wouldn't make me take it back."

He continued the tale, glossing over the hearing in which the law of the land had been changed since he hadn't been a witness to it. "You'll have to ask Gubbitch for that one. I only know that it happened. That's why I was telling you that you needed to report to him, though. That was one of the conditions. The orcs in each area had to have a leader." He could see her apprehension rising again and sent a prayer winging to whomever or whatever he'd been told listened to such things. He couldn't decide which one to direct it to, so it was more general.

His voice briefly softened and adopted a slight pleading note. "Listen to me, Garl. Hear me out."

The pet name slipped from him unconsciously, but she took no offense and it actually made her smile. She absently picked up the chisel and continued making the nails as she listened to him telling her about his own hearing, which proved that the King's laws could indeed be justly applied to orcs. Then he went on to tell her about Gubbitch and the other orcs, and their relations with the local humans, hobbits and even elves. He noted that Garlakh perked up at the mention of elves. She did not panic as she listened, but still seemed uncertain.

"I will have no more masters," she said.

"No, you won't. Your will will still be your own," he promised. "Teach won't let me call him my master, even though I sometimes still think of him that way. He accepts Teach because that's what he does for me. He lets me make my own decisions. Neither will Gubbitch accept the title of master from you, nor warlord. You'll need to see it to believe it, though. I did. He's meeting with Mistress Sevilodorf next week and asks you to come."

Garlakh filed the point on the last nail and dropped it into the bag she'd been filling. It was going to be heavy for whichever of those unfortunate souls ended up lugging it back to wherever it was going. Then she reached for a long wooden handle to attach the first of the shovel heads she'd fashioned several hours earlier. There was a long silence as she digested Nik's tale. Nik could only stand there hoping.

"When and where?" She finally asked as she handed Nik the first shovel and reached for the parts of the second. Nik told her. "All right, I'll be there. Tell him I'll come, but none of those rangers. I don't think I'm ready for them yet. Where is his den?" Nik answered that, too. "Right. Tell him if I have to leave, I will meet him there at sundown."

Nik produced the other bundle of ore he had brought as payment for services rendered, leaving his pack empty and flapping loosely on his back, and she dumped it into the bin with the rest. By this time it was nearly dawn, so when the second shovel was done, they went for another meal, opening the last pot of stew and warming up half of it. This one was just vegetables, Garlakh noted with interest, and sliced up the ham to add some of it to the pot. When she was looking out to assess the work for the day, Nik and Warg exchanged another celebratory grin.

Garlakh and Nik set to work clearing a path after the companionably quiet meal, followed by Warg, who was carrying the basket with the scant remains of the food and a huge bag of nails. This time it was Garl's turn to talk, and she told of how she had spent her years since the war. Nik and Warg listened interestedly as she told of the rare favors she had done for men, doing her best to stay out of sight, and the one situation that forced her to come face to face with a tark mother. She told of days where she had killed bandits she caught threatening travelers on the roads, of months and years unable to find work anywhere, of having to occasionally steal food or supplies, but always leaving something worthy in recompense because although she couldn't explain why, It seemed like the right thing to do. At the last she told them of her trip into Mordor, what happened and how her dreams always differed if they went too long, how it continued to haunt her. She didn't see the looks Nik and Warg exchanged behind her back.

Finally at around noon they were far enough down that Nik and Warg could handle the snow themselves and after emptying the basket of its last scraps of food, they parted on friendly terms. Garlakh returned to her cave as Nik and Warg set off for the lowlands, bearing no food, lots of nails, and word of a possible friend. Nik had, unbeknownst to either Garl or Warg, left the last three honey cakes in the den.


	5. The Proof is in the Pudding

Chapter 5

The Proof is in the Pudding.

December 14, 1423 SR

Though the sun shone in a cloudless sky, it brought little warmth to the western slopes of the Ephel Dúath, and even less to the Wetwang. But Nik with his thick boots, wool coat and a red scarf that easily measured twice his height wrapped about his neck and lower face gave little notice to the cold as he followed the path from Russ' farm to the King's Road. Upon reaching the road, he stared southward for a good five minutes before giving a sigh and crossing the road to settle at the foot of a massive lightning struck oak. He wondered why it was things you wanted to happen took forever to occur and were over too fast, while what you didn't want arrived quickly and seemed to last forever. Yule was a good example of the first.

Since experiencing his first Yule celebration two years ago, Nik spent an extraordinary amount of time thinking about the festivities. Either reliving the memories or planning for the next celebration as the hobbits of The Burping Troll held firmly to the belief that everyone must participate in the merriment. His first year, Nik had simply played a drum to accompany Russ and Celebsul. His second, one of special importance as it had been his first as an official citizen of Gondor, he had recited a poem about friendship with Warg. Everyone had applauded and cheered when they finished. This year, he had already helped Russ brew a special honey mead mixed with wild rose hips and rose petals. But he wanted to do more.

Most of all, he wanted to show Garl … Garlakh... that she could have friends. It was a difficult thing for an orc to learn. He wasn't certain she was ready, but he was determined to try. And today, another good example of something taking forever to happen, would be important. If things did not go right today, she might just leave and never come back. Worse, she might be told she had to leave.

The steady clip clop of hooves brought his head up, and he stood to wave as a cloth covered wagon rounded the bend in the road. The woman driving raised a hand in response, but called no greeting until she stopped before him. One of his first human friends, Sevilodorf had always dealt with him honestly, and he knew she would do the same with Garlakh. If that is, Garlakh would show up today.

"Well, Nik, what mischief are you and Warg up to?" Dark blue eyes looked sternly at him from beneath a brown knit cap, then gleamed with a mix of anger and amusement. "And will it infuriate that _toidi,_ Halbarad?"

"It's not mischief. Captain Halbarad knows what we're doing," Nik protested indignantly. "Didn't he explain it to you, Sev?"

Sevilodorf's lips twisted. "The worthy captain and I are not on speaking terms at the moment."

"Thank goodness for that," muttered Warg, trotting out of the woods on the other side of the wagon. "The yelling was beginning to deafen everyone."

Startled, the horse lurched forward and gave every sign of making a mad dash. Capably, Sevilodorf brought the animal up short with a quick pull on the lines and a sharp command. Turning in her seat, the trader-woman glared at Warg. "If you don't stop scaring this horse, I'm going to …."

"What? Leave me behind?" Warg snarled and moved to stand directly in the horse's path, causing the poor thing to shake uncontrollably. "Now that would certainly infuriate the captain. Not that you told him I was coming with you."

Nik rushed to block the horse's sight and began whispering softly into its ear while Sevilodorf and Warg engaged in a shouting match.

"Why should I inform him of something he knows all too well? Once a week for the past year, I've driven the same five miles to meet with the same orcs and conduct the same trades. And for every single meeting, I've had either you or him," she stabbed a finger in Nik's direction, "or a blasted elf or a _nmad_ Ranger tagging along."

"And haven't we all felt so welcome in your company?"

"I've told every one of you that I am more than capable of tending to myself." Sev's Rohirric accent thickened as her voice rose.

Warg gave a bark of laughter. "You've proved more than once that you can't."

For a moment, Nik thought Sev might pull one of the knives she wore and leap from the wagon. Instead she spat out a series of harsh syllables that Nik did not understand.

"Fine language for a lady," Warg sneered then trotted to the side of the wagon and released a similar string of incomprehensible sounds.

Sev opened her mouth to respond, then stopped and shook her head. "That is physically impossible. Inventive, but impossible."

Warg settled on her haunches and grinned. "What say we tell Hal to do the same?"

With a loud exhale that became a snort of laughter, Sev said, "I would love to. He'd probably have me arrested. Threatening a representative of the King. He's looking for a reason."

"You're both too stubborn for words." Warg rolled her eyes. "He is not trying to arrest you. He's just trying to..."

"Stop me," Sev interrupted and pointed north, "Stop me from following that road to the _nmad_ shores of the bloody Sea of Rhûn."

"Exactly."

Sevilodorf's face hardened, then she shook her head."If I thought for an instant I could get away with it, I'd go; but they'd follow me and drag me back."

"You can't go," Nik exclaimed, abandoning the horse and rushing back to peer up at the trader. "We need you."

Obviously surprised by his vehemence, Sev forced a smile and said in a soothing tone, "Thank you, Nik, but …."

"No, no, you don't understand. You're the one she'll listen to. She'd be afraid of the others, but you wouldn't scare her. She'd like you." Nik grimaced with anxious earnestness.

"She? She who?" Sev looked to Warg for explanation.

"It's his idea, let him explain it," Warg said. "Though if you'd bothered to be polite to Hal, he'd have told you before you left."

Ignoring the Warg's lesson on manners, Sev motioned Nik to join her on the wagon seat. The small orc clambered up and launched into a convoluted report of all that he and Warg had seen and done over the last month. He made certain to emphasize how skillful a smith Garlakh was.

"Hal said if Garl reported to Gubbitch. He'd be satisfied for now, given that... " Nik stopped and ducked his head.

In a low, emotionless voice, Sev completed his thought. "Given the Rangers are rather occupied at the moment with the disappearance of one of their own."

Nik nodded and dared to say, "I'm sorry, Sev. Anardil was..."

"Don't," Sev interrupted harshly. "Don't ... there is no was... he IS. If they'd just stop being cautious old women, I'd go and find him myself."

"Now, Sev... " began Warg, only to be cut off with an icy glare.

"Don't you dare 'now, Sev' me. I get enough of that from the hobbits." Sev clenched her fists and squeezed her eyes shut. For a long moment, she sat, with the orc and the warg knowing nothing they could say would lessen her pain. Then she inhaled deeply and released the breath slowly. Opening her eyes, she picked up the reins and snapped the lines. "Let's get on with the job at hand, shall we?"

Nik nodded, and Warg said, "Why not? Should prove rather entertaining. Garlakh looked to me like she could take on any one of Gubbitch's lads and come out the winner."

"She's not going to fight them," declared Nik, as the wagon began to roll and Warg fell into step beside them.

"Wanna bet?" chuckled Warg.

"Exactly how did you convince Hal of this plan?" Sev asked Nik.

"He didn't like the idea at first, but Celebsul talked him into it."

"He's the only one who could," Sev muttered. "Though why he would..."

"Because Garlakh deserves to know."

"Know what?"

"That it isn't the way it was. That men and elves and orcs don't have to fight. That orcs can have friends. That being part of a group doesn't mean that anyone is your master. That ..." Nik stopped, a bit embarrassed.

Sevilodorf looked at him solemnly. "You're right. She deserves to know. And if there's anything I can do to help you, I will."

Nik beamed up at the Rohirrim woman happily. "She'll like you. You'll see."

"Probably feel like she's looking in a mirror," Warg muttered.

In the beginning, the glade Sev had chosen to be the site of her dealings with the orcs had been simply an open area large enough for her to turn the wagon easily. As time passed, amenities were added: a stone fire pit with a metal grate, a three-sided lean-to well stocked with hay, a stone table and an assortment of stumps that served as chairs. However, no amount of embellishment could alter the fact that it stood on the edge of a portion of the Ephel Dúath left shattered by the quakes marking the end of the Dark Lord. Pocketed with caves and fortresses once filled with his servants, the land would be haunted for scores of years to come.

Gubbitch's group of orcs lived among these tumbled hills. Surviving upon the game which had returned to the land and what they received in trade for the semi-precious stones they delivered to Sev with a regularity that almost overwhelmed her ability to find a market for them. The lads also turned their hands to any manual labor requiring strong backs and few thoughts. The massive garden the hobbits planted to provide The Burping Troll with produce was a result of their labor, as was the Elvish enclave of houses known as Erynlond. A few of the orcs even traveled to the village of Henneth Annûn at harvest time. By preference or at Gubbitch's dictate, those lacking "tha sense o' a goose" or "canna keep grimy paws to themselves'", stayed within a few miles of the cavern they called home, and trading day was the height of their week.

"There's Titch," Nik exclaimed and stood to wave enthusiastically at the only orc among Gubbitch's lads that matched his small stature.

"Sit down, before you …." Sev didn't bother to finish as Nik leaped from the wagon and raced ahead to greet his friend.

As Sev pulled the wagon to a halt, Gubbitch and Titch, who had a special affection for horses, moved to unhitch the mare and lead her to the lean to. Both the orc chief and his lieutenant appeared a bit worse for the wear. Gubbitch had a great bruise on the left side of his face and favored his shoulder in a way that suggested he had matching bruises there. A blood encrusted bandage wreathed Titch's forehead and two fingers were obviously broken. A quick check of the other members of Gubbitch's tribe showed most of them bore bloody testament to coming out on the wrong end of a fight. A fight not limited to fists, as Gubbitch was wont to enforce, but one involving clubs, knives, swords and possibly other more fearful weapons.

"I'd say they met Garlakh," Warg said with a smirk.

"If she managed to do all this damage..." Sev stopped as her tallying of the injuries revealed that though the contests had been brutal, as were any involving the orcs, they had not been lethal. There had been violence, but it had been restrained. With a sigh for the amount of stitching of cuts and cleaning of wounds she would be doing in the next few hours, she said as Gubbitch approached, "Everyone appears to have had fun."

"Ain't had a donnybrook like that in years, ah ain't," said Gubbitch with a grin. "Few o' me younger lads thought they could take advantage o' 'er 'cause she's female. They were thinkin' o' 'avin' a breeder 'n they 'and't learned yet tha' females can be reet fierce. More fools them. Thems th' 'uns she bloodied. Me 'n Titch had rounds wi' 'er jes' for th' fun o' it, but we used th' wooden 'uns like I seen th' Rangers use in practice. Jes' testin'. Ah'd take 'er inter a fight if it came ter one, long as it proves ah can trust 'er. We ain't had time ter do much talkin' yet."

Only years of familiarity allowed Sev to understand what Gubbitch said though it often took a few moments for full comprehension to sink in. Nik suffered no such delays and immediately responded, "Oh, good, she came." Peering with difficulty around the taller orcs crowding up to the wagon, he added, "Where is she?"

"Lass is a mite shy o' strangers." Gubbitch jerked his head toward the battered hillside. "Hightailed it out when she heerd yer wagon, Sev. She'll be back down. Give' 'er time ta think on it."

Garlakh was indeed in the hills, having hastened there when the rumble of the wagon's approach echoed in the distance. It had occurred without conscious thought on her part. However, once her subconscious moved her to what it considered a safe distance, she took no trouble to hide herself from their view, so all could see her even if conversation was impossible.

Garlakh watched and let her blood settle from the fighting, unable to hear any of the conversations. That woman had to be the one Nik called Sevilodorf or Sev. She studied the tark woman intently and at first mistook her for Leanne, but no, this one was plumper and older – and sadder, she thought, though she had little to no experience with tark emotions. Something had left tight lines around her mouth and eyes. Garlakh speculated, then shrugged it off as unimportant for the moment. She watched as the orcs traded with the woman, some with stones, and others with hides or even bits of coin for the really lucky ones, and watched how the woman tended their injuries.

That was interesting in itself. Back in Mirkwood, the bonefixer just daubed who knew what strange substances on you and stitched you up unevenly, but this tark took more care and used a gentler touch. There was far less shouting and cursing than ever occurred in an orc medic hut, for a fact. A sudden howl rent the air. Well, except for when bones are being set, it seemed, as she saw the woman working on the smallest one's broken fingers. Some things couldn't be helped. That had actually been an accident. He'd fallen during the spar and though she'd tried to check her swing, the wooden knife had crashed down on his hand, leaving the two fingers neatly broken before he could rise. Then her mind returned to trade.

Garlakh wondered if she might be able to gather herbs from the mountains and trade them with the woman, too, whenever she wasn't forging something. There'd been no time for a large project like a shield or helm, so she'd brought along an iron skillet, a pot, a basic utility knife and a ladle for the woman's perusal, along with a few more nails for Nik's friend so she could finish off the ingot. As the last orc to need the woman's healing touch moved to scoop a bowl of greasy stew from the pot bubbling over the fire, Garlakh began to creep down the hill. Nik met her eyes briefly, and she knew that he saw her coming.

Suddenly a man's call rang out from the road. Garlakh looked to see a tall tark who was a dead ringer for the image of the first one she had seen during her trip to Mordor, the one clad in green and brown, though his leathers were finer than this one's. The tark seemed angry with the trader-woman about something. Then the howl of her former master filled her mind. It was immediately answered by her own will as she firmly refused its command. In counter to the voice, Garlakh raced up the hill, abandoning all the goods she had brought to trade. The voice fell sullenly silent.

At the top, where she could watch but not harm, even with her shortbow, she stopped and looked back. Nik gesticulated agitatedly at the tark, who stood staring up the hill toward her. His expression was hard to be sure of at this distance. Her breathing settled quickly, but she was rattled, and she dared not approach them now. She swore sharply in two orcish dialects and cursed herself for a coward as she moved down the far side of the hill, toward where she'd been told Gubbitch's den was. She would await them there as she promised.

She thought back over the hours before the wagon's arrival. Immediately upon reaching the glen, she had been approached by three or four young orcs who'd tried to jump her. The word "no" wasn't enough for them, so she let the mace and dagger talk a bit until a very old orc had showed up and gotten between her and the bucks. She'd backed off and sheathed the weapons. It had surprised him when he looked his lads over and realized that though they were all bloody, the wounds had been in places that would be painful, but not fatal. She'd had time to kill one or two; but she'd wanted to teach lessons, not take lives. They had agreed to finish teaching the lessons by having her spar the warlord and his lieutenant in front of the band, so with a few quick knife strokes, they created practice weapons of a sort and went to it. She grinned again as she thought back on the spar with the old one, Gubbitch. That was one uruk she'd not mind losing to, she thought with a thrill she'd not known since her mate was alive. Though the spars with him and his lieutenant had ended in a draw today, he, at least, might have the advantage in a real fight, if for no other reason than his experience. If she were looking for power in a new band, she would have to match his second again. Power, though, had never been desired even though it had once come to her. She rubbed her ribs briefly, testing as much as soothing. They had to be bruised from that massive fight. She settled against a boulder outside the entrance to the den and waited, paying the pain no further mind. Many times over the last couple months, she had suffered worse by far and all over at once. Bruised ribs were puppy play in comparison.

"Nik, I am sorry." Bob had settled on a stump to avoid towering over the agitated orc. "If you think it would do any good I'll hike up into the hills with you to offer my apologies to Gnarlish."

"Garlakh," Nik said firmly. "Her name is Garlakh."

"Sorry. Gnarlak." Bob gave it his best, but laughter from the audience of orcs avidly watching the confrontation between the tall Ranger and one of the smallest of their own kind proved he was far from correct.

"Never mind," replied Nik, despondently. "You'll never have to talk to her anyway. She's probably packing up her things to leave."

"If Sev..."

"Don't start that tune again, Bob," interrupted Sevilodorf, turning from supervising the placement of two crates of stones in her wagon to glare at the man. "I was minding my own business, like I always do." Warg's snort of laughter from her place by the fire drew an icy look. "I had two trustworthy companions, and everyone at the Troll knew where I was."

"Furthermore, someone," Sev emphasized the word with a stab of her finger into Bob's shoulder, "should have bothered to tell me about Garlakh."

Her pronunciation of the name earned murmurs of approval from the watching orcs, and a round of applause from the enormous Lugbac, who had helped load the wagon and though not the sharpest tool in the shed knew full well where his next serving of horehound drops would be coming from.

"Like you would have listened to Hal," retorted Bob.

"e's reet there missus, you'd a never," Titch dared to comment from the crowd. The other orcs offered their agreement, with a few even offering odds on the event.

As Sev whirled to confront them, Gubbitch stepped between her and his lads, "Never mind tha lads, missus, jes' 'avin' a bit o' fun. Will all work itself out. Garlakh's jest on tha shy side. Had sum problems she has. Been travelin' a long ways. Been alone fer a mite too long. Best if'n ah deal wi' 'er first. She most likely be at our place waitin' fer us. Said she'd do that, an' ah beleeve 'er."

"She said that?" Nik asked hopefully.

Gubbitch clapped the smaller orc on the back. "Jest this mornin'. Reet afore Sev showed up."

Sevilodorf looked up at the hills thoughtfully, then turned with a firm nod. "Since the point of the whole plan was for Garlakh to meet with me, I'll just go with you to meet with her. Lugbac, unhitch Dysig. She and the wagon will be fine right here. Maybe Titch can stay to keep her company."

Titch nodded dumbly, and Lugbac moved to follow the trader's directive, while Nik cried, "Oh, yes, that's a great idea!"

Bob and Gubbitch, however, wore similar stunned expressions, then spoke simultaneously.

"No! You won't."

"Nawt a good idea, missus."

The Ranger rose to stand shoulder to shoulder with the orc chieftain. "Are you out of your mind? You aren't going to their den alone. And this Gnarl won't stick around if I show up."

"'Tis nawt tha sort o' place fittin' fer a lady, Sev." Gubbitch scratched his ear. "Reet messy."

"Garlakh's female, isn't she?" Sev asked.

"Yessum, an' that there's part o' tha problem. The lads," Gubbitch jerked a thumb over his shoulder, "don't reet know how to behave around 'er. Yet. She be teachin' 'em. Best to jest wait a bit."

For an moment, it looked as it the Rohirrim woman had been convinced. Bob and Gubbitch uttered identical sighs, and their shoulders relaxed. Then, Sev shook her head. "No, I really think it must be today. Warg, you will go with me, won't you?"

Warg rose and stretched slowly, reminding both orcs and man exactly how large she was. Then she sauntered over to stand at Sev's side and grin toothily at Bob and Gubbitch. "I'd be delighted."

Mouths ajar and eyes wide, the man and orc again mirrored each other. And again, they spoke together, "No."

Lugbac, the task of unhitching the mare and tethering her once more to the lean to complete, lumbered up to Sev's side. "Ah ken watch Sev. Not one of 'em chuffs will bother 'er."

Gubbitch muttered an orcish curse. "Tha daft dollop. One's nawt tha problem."

"She's not going," Bob stated. "Hal will kill us all if we let her..."

"Let me!" Sev's eyes blazed. "You have no command over me, Bob. Neither does your precious Hal. Warg, Lugbac, let's go."

Sevilodorf marched off in the direction Garlakh had disappeared. Lugbac with a sheepish shrug for Gubbitch followed her. Nik paused to grab a small pack from beneath the wagon seat and wrap his red scarf securely about his neck, then followed. Warg, however, lingered to snarl softly at Bob and Gubbitch, "I'd be insulted if I didn't know how much you care. She is pack." With a flick of her tail, she loped after the trio.

One by one the other orcs departed, careful not to meet the eye of either the Ranger or their chief.

The smell and the look of the place was familiar, Garlakh thought as she sat against the boulder just outside the cave. The smell reminded her of her century in Mirkwood. It always happened when orcs lived together. She was quite sure she'd come to the right place. There couldn't be many other places nearby with such a smell around them in this day. It wasn't long before many footsteps announced the approach of a large crowd of people to join her. Garlakh watched from under a wide-brimmed hat as the Yellow Face began to drop from the high point of the day and idly wondered how many more lessons she would have to teach this night. She needed to talk to Gubbitch again, preferably alone or maybe with only his second. She'd given him her sworn oath as required by the laws of this king, but it was only words. She wanted it to mean more, though if asked she couldn't have said exactly what she sought. Her mail clattered slightly as she shifted position to see the party better.

Garlakh blinked in shock as she spotted the figure of Sevilodorf coming amidst the throng of orcs. The trader-woman was of an equal height with many of the orcs, though far shorter than the Ranger had been. At her side, giving the other orcs an evil eyed squint, was the tall male called Lugbac. He bore few marks of the fighting which had occurred earlier. If memory served, his bruises had been dealt by another of Gubbitch's group rather than her own hand. In fact, it had been the most massive of the whole group. One who now thudded along slightly behind Sevilodorf and gave a wide sharp toothed leer as he caught Garlakh's eye. What he was called Garlakh did not know, but he was definitely one she would keep her eye on. Both eyes, if possible.

"'ere she be, Sev," Lugbac said, pointing in Garlakh's direction while giving the enormous orc a sharp elbow in the gut, payment for getting too close. He then shepherded the trader toward the female orc.

Garlakh saw the big orc who had spoken to Sev was carrying her dropped bag of goods. Then a flash of red drew her attention to Nik. Just what did he think he was wearing? Red like that was the kind of thing that would get you killed if there were enemies around, and it didn't look like it would provide any kind of resistance to blade or sticker. Speaking of stickers, a pull drew her attention to her left shoulder, and she straightened her quiver and returned her mind to the question of Sevilodorf. Was it usual for her to enter an orc's den? If the look on Gubbitch's face and the protective postures of the big orc and the warg who stepped along on the woman's other side were any clue, Garlakh thought it might just be a first.

The woman certainly wouldn't be spending the evening; and since humans couldn't see well at night, she'd not have long before she would need to return to the trading place. Any conversation with her would have to be quick, this would have to take precedent over any further lessons needing taught; that tark would come looking for his friend soon enough if he wasn't following behind this horde.

As the image of the tark flashed across her mind, the voice stirred briefly again, demanding she find and kill him. Again Garlakh denied it and resisted the urge to flee from all these people as she stood so the rest could see her. It had been a taxing day already and it wasn't over by a long way. She'd not been around this many at once since the war. She noticed Sevilodorf regarding her, and their gazes touched for a moment. Nik positively beamed at her. Warg smirked. The orcs' reactions were more varied. Gubbitch nodded to her and she thought she caught a faint smile from him, while a few of the bloodier ones gave her baleful looks. She gave a twisted smile at that. It was fair enough, she supposed, as they were no doubt still feeling the bite of her weapons.

"Ah brung yer bits back, Garlakh. Sev took ah peek at 'em. She said they showed real skill. Ain't that reet, Sev?"

The hulking Lugbac held the bag out leaving Garlakh no choice but to take it.

The trader patted the large orc on the arm. "I did indeed, Lugbac." Then she smiled and directed her words to Garlakh, "I'd be delighted to discuss trade, now and for the future, Garlakh. Though, I think it best if we talk without," she indicated the surrounding crowd, "an audience. Gubbitch?"

"Reet, missus. Yer want ta be in or owt?" the orc chief asked with a hint of humor.

"Out, if you wouldn't mind? No need to give Hal even more to be angry about." Sev's lips twisted ruefully.

"Owt, it be then." Gubbitch immediately began issuing sharp orders to his lads. Some he set to building a fire, and others were sent off into the hills with the directive to hunt down a rabbit or ten for the evening meal. The largest group was told to get into the den and stay there. Finally, the orc chief slapped the side of Lugbac's head and said, "Yer tah stand behind Sev and keep quiet."

Lugbac nodded with his lips pressed tightly together and shadowed Sevilodorf as she followed Gubbitch to the rock seats surrounding the fire pit. After settling Sev with Nik on one side and Warg on the other, Gubbitch turned to stare at Garlakh. "Yer comin' or no?"

Garlakh took a deep breath to gather her courage and removed her hat. No doubt the orcs dispersed inside the cave would be huddled at the entrance listening and avidly watching what happened next. She went toward the little clump including Nik, Gubbitch, Warg, the big orc and the woman and stood closest to Nik. She thought he liked her, but she wasn't sure about Warg, and somehow she felt she needed support, though she could not have admitted it aloud. For some reason, she associated Nik with something warm. She noticed Nik was carrying a pack and idly wondered what was in it and if he had any more of those marvelous honey cakes, but the light thought fled quickly as she stood face to face with the woman. Unable to hide her nerves, her hands were bunched in her rabbit fur cloak, which had the effect of pulling it open so her armor could be seen. Nonetheless she straightened as much as her form would allow and let the woman's eyes take her in from her shoulder-length scraggly black hair to the worn-out elf-made boots she'd paid for so long ago, not flinching when their gazes met and held, amber on blue, letting the woman see whatever she could or would. Garlakh liked what she thought she saw in the eyes of the woman. She was another formidable one like Leanne, and there was more Garlakh could not name, yet nothing in those eyes triggered fear in her. She wondered if this woman might have some of the answers Garlakh wanted so badly. Then the woman spoke, bringing her silent conversation with herself to an end.

It was a couple hours shy of midnight now and the sun had long gone down outside the orcs' den. The conversation had gone well with the trader woman Sev. Garl had gotten herself a couple packs of herbs for making dye when she got back to her den as well as some spicy sausages and as they walked back toward the clearing, Sev had put in a large order of cookery, promising to pay in ores that Garl had eventually admitted to needing or wanting. Garl had mentioned her brother and his small band of miners in the Ash Mountains, but since they moved around a lot, there was no setting up a trade route with them yet. Sev had links with miners of her own, though, it seemed, which worked just as well. Garl was looking forward to playing with copper, tin, zinc, lead or whatever else Sev could get her, always assuming the trade actually happened. She'd also mentioned needing a real forge and seen Gubbitch and Nik exchanging a look.

The trader had been worried about what someone called Halbarad would say to her about the trip to the orcs' den. Garlakh was enjoying talking to Sev enough that she didn't notice precisely where she was until too late to do anything about it. As they returned to the glade, Garlakh lost track of the conversations and movements around her. There stood the same tark from whom she had fled earlier. In the middle of a cluster of nearly half a dozen orcs, one human and a warg, she couldn't easily flee this time. She clamped down on the renewed howling voice and studied the one she thought must be Halbarad. She thought Sev would be getting quite an earful from him, then maybe another when she got back to the inn if anyone else found out. It took all her effort not to run over everyone in her attempt to get away from the tall ranger and the longer she stayed, the louder the voice howled. Garlakh clenched her jaw and bunched her hands in her cloak with effort as she resisted the voice. She suddenly went so rigid those nearby could see it, though she was unaware; the reason was a sharp flash of icy pain in what seemed to be every fiber of her body as the voice redoubled its efforts once, then twice, then thrice, the pain growing along with its insistence, and yet she resisted, though her eyes never left the ranger. She was completely silent despite the onslaught of agony. She did not notice that she was sweating with the effort and with fear. Others nearby did see her struggles, and most had little idea of exactly what was happening to her, mistaking her tension for simple fear. Nik and Warg knew better, though, and exchanged a look. Suddenly, though Garlakh had never moved, a rough hand was lying gently over one of her own where it was bunched in her cloak, not grasping or restraining, but able to do so if necessary. It was enough to end the battle of wills for the moment.

The voice fell suddenly and sullenly silent, thwarted yet again, and the pain vanished, leaving only echoes of itself. Garlakh blinked and went suddenly limp in the silence. She found herself breathing hard, cold now and covered in sweat, though the rough-skinned hand touching her was warm. She tore her eyes from the ranger and looked at those nearest her. She saw the hand was attached to Nik, who smiled brightly and tucked it back under his scarf when he felt her posture ease and saw by her eyes that she was firmly in control of herself and in the present again. She noticed that Gubbitch was watching her with an assessing gaze, looking thoughtful.

Sev was over by the wagon, the horse already having been harnessed, and climbing aboard after checking the cargo was all accounted for and properly arranged. Garlakh just waved, feeling wrung out from her silent battle. It had been her hardest since she stood over the pit where once Barad-Dur had stood. She heard Sev make some comment about getting back, and the tark replying in a surly voice about rushing to meet their doom. Warg gave Garlakh a wargish nod and trotted off to join the tark and Sev. Nik, however, remained with the cluster of orcs.


	6. A New Band

Chapter 6

A New Band

Silently, the orcs made their way back to the den. Garlakh had no desire to talk. As it turned out, though, she had to do just that, and in more than one way. Though the afternoon had been enjoyable, the evening became a major source of annoyance.

"I said, no," she snarled, at the end of her tether and temper frayed as she faced down the largest of the orcs. The long, draining day had only gotten longer, and she'd had more than enough. Some of the group had tried to impress her by showing their prowess at thieving and others at fighting, all to get her attention and none of the fighters quite accepting that she'd long ago seen better than the likes of them. It had resulted in a brawl involving the whole band, at least a dozen lost teeth, half a dozen fights over who rightfully owned what, four broken arms, two broken noses, a broken wrist, and one mightily unimpressed female, whose mood had not been improved by the tomfoolery typical among her kind. One of the daft chuffs had tried making off with four of her silver coins. Mass stupidity among orcs had been one of the reasons she'd never taken another mate, which she could have done even though she'd not been assigned to breed. Unauthorized rutting was common enough with orcs. Gubbitch and his lieutenants, Titch and Jabot, had broken up the brawl, largely by cracking the heads of the worst offenders together and forcibly returning stolen property. Then Gubbitch had denied her the delicious use of weapons her mood demanded. She admitted privately that was likely a wise decision on the chief's part, but she was in a mood to spill blood now.

"If I'm ever going to rut, it sure as fire ain't gonna be tonight, nor with you!"

"Yer will rut wi' Rackler!" the big brute growled, "Now!"

The massive male lunged forward trying to grab her. She let him in close, and used all the power more than a century of smithing had given her to punch him square in the face. She put her weight into it and used his own momentum against him, and the blow would have killed a man, but orcs are made of tougher stuff. His head snapped back, then forward, blood sprayed from his nose, and he dropped to the ground as if his strings were cut, completely unconscious or badly dazed. She didn't know or care which, but whatever brains were in his head were surely rattled. Make that three broken noses. She rolled him over roughly, so he wouldn't choke on his own blood before he woke up. She supposed Gubbitch would appreciate not losing one of his lads, though the value of that one was questionable. Garlakh sighed and shook her head in weary disgust as she walked away from the fallen orc. She sent a challenging glare around the cavern, but a sudden silence had fallen when she laid out Rackler. None of the band would meet her eyes, and Nik was sitting by the fire looking mildly shocked. He had never paid much attention to the females in Isengard since he would never have been selected to breed with one.

"Sorry, warlord," she said absently to Gubbitch as she dropped down on a rock and reached for a scrap of rabbit someone had left.

Gubbitch was calm. "Ah warned 'em. An' tha dun call me thy warlord. Ah ain't. Tha ken call me chief, or jes' Gubbitch. Ah'll take tha', but not warlord. Ain't in th' business o' war no more unless someone attacks ma friends. Then me an' th' lads'll move th' earth if'n we 'ave ter to get 'em out o' trouble."

Nik grinned at Garlakh, who was looking at Gubbitch in surprise, then she laughed tiredly and remembered Nik's tale in which Gubbitch and his band had literally done just that.

"Fair enough. I might slip. Used to call my old warlord boss and he didn't seem to mind that. Chief, it is, then. Nik told me you wouldn't take master or warlord as titles. Got somewhere I can sleep?"

Gubbitch showed her to a hollowed out cleft in the rear of the cavern. He pointed to a pile straw topped with several felt blankets and a mosaic of rabbit skins sewn together with rough stitches. "Nik'll sleep across here, and ah'll take this side. Won't none o' the rest bother ye tonight."

Back in the main cavern, Rackler began to stir and one of the orcs who'd tried to impress Garlakh with his pickpocketing skills went over and reset his nose. Rackler's howl set off raucous laughter and commentary about the evening's entertainment. Gubbitch rolled his eyes and went to enforce the peace, as Garlakh and Nik settled onto their blankets.

Sleep, when it came, was far from restful after a day like that.

"Wha's goin' on wi' 'er, anyway?"

Gubbitch and Nik were watching Garlakh sleep, or rather, try to sleep. Only the sounds of over a dozen snoring orcs were audible in the cavern now, and they were the only ones still wakeful. She had finally been still for half an hour and Gubbitch felt it safe enough to talk quietly without waking her.

"Enough courage ter try fer peaceful livin' but cain't look at a ranger wi'owt freakin'? Never seen an orc that don't sleep like tha dead."

"She never sleeps well," Nik said. "She said she's had dreams since she went into Mordor and – awww here it goes," he finished sadly.

They watched as Garlakh began to toss and turn on the straw that served as her bed.

"She went ter Mordor? Why?" Gubbitch blinked and pulled his eyes away from the restless female to look sharply at Nik.

Nik shrugged. "Said she felt drawn there."

"Did she now?" Gubbitch looked thoughtful. "Well, that were reet foolish. There's no good ta be found pokin' abot that place."

Nik grinned and nodded. "She'd agree with you there. I feel sure she'll never set foot there again if she can help it. Anyway she said she went all the way to where Barad-dur was and had an encounter with -"

They both stopped talking for the moment, for Garlakh's tossing had become more intense and drew Gubbitch's eye back to her. He leaned forward, watching and listening as she began to mutter.

"Can you understand her?" Nik asked. "It's not a dialect I know.

Gubbitch nodded. "'Ad a lad from 'er tribe once. 'E were 'un o' me best 'unters, but 'ah ain't seen 'im since th' tower fell. 'Ad that same 'ammer an' spear on 'is cheek." He trailed off and listened. "She's sayin' she won't jump inter a pit, 'n won't kill no tarks fer 'im, 'n she ain't 'is no more 'n wun' serve 'im."

Gubbitch frowned as he watched the struggling orc, lost for a moment in his own thoughts. Nik suddenly gasped, bringing him back to the matter at hand.

"She's never said that. Did she say Faramir? How would she have ever met Faramir?"

"'Tis magic, evil magic, so ain't no need to meet tha bloke. See 'im in yer mind. Or think yer does. Might be why she couldna take tha sight of Ol' Bob. Got some kind of imaginin' o' tha Ranger and then up come Bob. All them Rangers look alike."

Gubbitch nodded when the word came again. "She's sayin' she dun' wanna and she thinks 'e 'as answers, 'n sommat abot th' king too…" He trailed off.

Garlakh's tossing had buried her face briefly in the straw-filled sack acting as a pillow and some of the words were lost. Then she went rigid and didn't appear to be breathing for a long moment. Gubbitch's frown deepened as he leaned further forward, staring at the female. After what seemed an impossibly long moment, the orc on the straw relaxed again with a low groan both were sure she'd never have allowed to pass her lips had she been conscious. It looked similar to what had occurred earlier in the day, Nik thought. Garlakh's eyes opened briefly and met Nik's, then Gubbitch's. Her gaze lingered there, held by the chief's intent stare, but no recognition showed. Then, with a shudder, the tortured female sagged and dropped back into sleep.

"Close 'un, lass," Gubbitch muttered, confusing Nik thoroughly.

"What do you mean?"

"Ah no longer question 'er courage or 'er strength, at all," Gubbitch replied in a troubled tone, his eyes distant. "She's gonna need 'elp, an' sooner rather than later. This ain't 'un ah want ter see lost, not after all tha told me."

"Help with what?" Nik was just as confused as before, and now worried, too.

Gubbitch, however, lapsed into a thoughtful silence and left Nik to fall asleep with his questions unanswered.

December 15, 1423 SR

It had been another bad night. Garlakh had that fuzzy feeling in her head from dreams that had gone on longer than were good for her, and she felt very twitchy. There was a vague memory of waking and seeing the warl – chief watching over her. She was a bit embarrassed by that, but maybe he understood what was happening to her better than she did. She wished she knew how to ask for help without showing weakness. The longer this went on, the more certain she was that she needed help of some kind.

Fully expecting derision from him, she made her way out of the cave and to the breakfast fire slowly. Others had been up and brought in several birds. Bits of ham and bacon, bartered from Sevilodorf for "sto-wans" Lugbac informed her, made their way around the group. Garlakh snagged a piece of each and noted most of the band avoided her eyes. A consequence of her beating them all soundly the previous evening, or of them witnessing her in the throes of nightmares she could not control?

Gubbitch appeared at her elbow and thrust a thick clay mug with a chipped rim into her hands, splashing the steaming liquid onto her sleeve. "Drink up."

Garlakh peered suspiciously at the bits of leaves floating in pale green water. "What is it?"

"Dunno. Some brew o' Sev's. Keep yer teeth in yer head, stead o' fallin' out. Tastes better'n other o' her draughts. Any course, says we're to drink it every day, or she won't do no more teeth work."

Garlakh took a cautious sip. She'd had worse, and the drink was hot and would warm her insides; so she downed the rest in a long swallow and handed the mug back to Gubbitch.

Gubbitch tossed the cup across the fire toward Titch, who immediately dipped it in a small kettle and passed it to another orc.

"Most o' th' lads are goin' ter one o' th' caves we're working for the sto-wans we trade with Sev. Were thinking tha could take me, Titch 'n Nik to thy den so we ken 'ave a look at yer forge and start plannin' a good 'un. Jabot'll be keepin' th' other lads in line."

"I'll take you up on that," Garlakh agreed. "I'm no stoneworker. It's not much more than a shaped pit under an overhang with a good-sized fissure to let smoke out. Uses wood instead of coal or charcoal and it isn't the best way to do it."

"Nar," Gubbitch agreed. "Ain't no smith, but I did see col used when it could be, an' we can get thee col. Know jes' th' 'un to ask fer that."

Soon the four orcs moved off through the chill morning. Garlakh's den was further up in the mountains, but they still arrived in a fairly short amount of time, discussing as they went all the things Garlakh intended to make. The cavern and forge were quickly assessed. Gubbitch and Titch might as well have been speaking a different language for all Garlakh and Nik understood once they started talking plans.

"I can follow directions and lend my hands as well as anyone, but I'll have to trust to your knowledge on this, Gubbitch," Garlakh finally said. "I've never seen a forge built. They were always already there. The first thing it'll make, though, is new tools for you and your lads. I figure that's about the best way I can repay you for your work." She'd seen their tools the night before: a rusty collection of picks, crowbars, trowels, shovels and other assorted necessaries, all well past their prime much like her own belongings.

"Reet, then, tha's fair enough and we'll 'preciate it fer sure. Finish yer work fer Sev first, 'n then we'll start workin'. We're buildin' it o' stowan. It's wha' we do best an' it'll last a real long time. Tha've got a good foundation fer it anyway, once we work on it a bit more. Tha' got th' size abot reet."

Garlakh nodded at that. While Titch was looking at some of the small hides Garlakh had cured and worked into sheaths, belts and quivers when sleep eluded her, Gubbitch lowered his voice and spoke more quietly.

"There's sommat else, Garlakh. Ah still need ter have a think an' talk to some people, but ah might know someone who can help wi' thy sleepin' problem."

She blinked at him and looked again, studying his eyes. She'd been right. He knew something, and knew it better than she, but he wasn't ready to tell her exactly what was on his mind.

"Tha'll 'ave ter come visit us ageen in a few nights. 'e comes ter th' den once or twice a week. There's jes' one thing tha'll 'ave to prepare thesen fer. 'e's an elf."

Garlakh straightened as if someone had shoved a rod up her back and blinked in surprise at Gubbitch. Nik half expected her to bolt, but no. She watched Gubbitch's eyes, then looked to him. Was that anticipation he saw?

"He's nice, Garl – er – Garlakh. He won't hurt you. You've already helped him, but you didn't know it. The nails were for him." The shortened name slipped from Nik again, and again she seemed to take no offense. "You don't mind when I call you Garl?"

"Nah," she said distantly, her thoughts far away. "Most did. Beats sow or any of the other names I heard and usually the ones who used it respected me, as far as respect goes among us. Use it or my whole name as suits you at the time. I don't much care." Then she fell silent, digesting the fact that her next contact with the locals would involve an elf.

"Huh," Garlakh mused distractedly, reaching up to caress the elf's tooth she still wore on a braid of his own chestnut hair around her neck. There were some devious souls in this part of the world, she thought without rancor. An elf. That would be interesting. The last time she looked closely at one of those had been during the war. She'd had to watch from a distance after. She still remembered the eyes most, and how some part of her had wanted to keep looking, though the reasons were drastically different during and after the war. She saw that both orcs had noticed where her hand was and Gubbitch frowned slightly, looking a bit concerned. She blinked away her thoughts of elves past.

"Your elf's in no danger from me, if I have a say in the matter," she said. "Once this was a trophy from the one who killed my mate. Now, it's just something I rub when I'm pondering something. I don't know what it means now, but it seems to help me think." She showed them how one side of the tooth had been rubbed smooth and flat. Both looked back to her eyes and she did nothing to dodge the gazes. She had nothing to hide, least of all from these two.

"Aye I get it," said Gubbitch, "but it might be better fer thee ter leave it 'ere when tha come ter meet him. Them that ain't like us don' much like seein' pieces o' their kinfolk bein' worn."

"As you wish, chief."

Soon the other three departed and Garlakh was left alone in the near silence, the only noise being the stream. She sat on her pallet a while, just thinking and decompressing from the last day or so of nonstop noise and being surrounded by people. She rubbed her face and sighed. Would that ever get any easier? She felt like she was always on guard against something that wanted very badly to escape her grasp, and if once it did, she would never capture or restrain it again.

The day before had been insane. The parts with the orcs had been the easiest, but she didn't think the humans could possibly understand how hard she'd had to fight when she was with them, Particularly that Ranger fellow. She'd have to be more careful to avoid those, no matter how enjoyable Sev's company was. Whatever it was that wanted out especially wanted a Ranger. The fear that she might yield to it was almost overwhelming as she remembered watching him and being unable to tear her gaze away. There was something in that man's eyes, too. He had some of that same look, but she couldn't get near him again. Not yet. Maybe not ever. It was most frustrating that the ones who seemed to have something she needed were the very ones she couldn't come anywhere near. She'd need all of her wits about her in a few days, though, so she'd better get to recentering herself. Sev's cookery request wasn't terribly difficult despite its size. To be frank, she figured she could do most of that in her sleep. She'd start that tomorrow, but tonight was for her. She needed something that was more challenging tonight. Time to put those rivets to use, then. A piece of mail would force her to concentrate nicely.


	7. The Light that Draws You

Chapter 7

The Light that Draws You

December 18-19, 1423 S.R.

Wearing a freshly-made set of mail chausses and new boots, Garlakh stepped out into the late afternoon and tugged the hood of her white rabbit fur cloak lower against the sun's rays. The elf necklace was left back in the cavern as Gubbitch had requested, but otherwise she was fully armed and armored; it was the only way she knew to be, and the only way she felt even close to safe, though true safety was undeniably an illusion. Instead of the elf hair and tooth, Garlakh wore the only decorative thing she'd ever made to her own taste and no others. It was an iron torc engraved all over with depictions of various mining and smithing tools. She had had it for over a century, but never worn it around her tribe, who weren't interested in anything that didn't have the skull or the eye on it.

She had assembled the mail on the first night, having been working on the pieces for a while, then spent much of the last couple days working on Sev's order. She was done with most of the pans. She thought it must have amused Sevilodorf having to explain what a muffin tin was and try to describe the measurements of the compartments needed. Garlakh had never seen a muffin before Sev showed her one, but she thought she had gotten the pans right based on that. Cauldrons, skillets and the other pans were easy enough, though. When she got back, it was down to a couple of mixing bowls, platters and then some tongs, spatulas, spoons, knives and forks. Those would go quickly.

She arrived at Gubbitch's just in time for dinner. There were no hobbit treats to enliven things this night. It was plain orcish fare with greasy stew made from unidentifiable ingredients. Rackler quickly attached himself to her. He brought her food and drink and kicked some other orc out of what he apparently figured to be the seat she would prefer. Garlakh didn't really care where she sat, so just shrugged. This wouldn't get Rackler any closer to rutting with her, but if he wanted to do for her, she'd find a use for him. Nik was also there again, still wearing that ridiculous red wrap around his face. For a while she watched as a group of orcs gambled with dice and stones, with relatively few fights this time. Some of the players were among those who had tried to importune her a few days ago and were no doubt still sore. She hadn't brought anything to wager and stayed out of it tonight, choosing instead to play kings with Gubbitch. As they talked, she answered his questions about her trip to Mordor and its lingering aftereffects. She also answered his questions about what had happened to her in the clearing with the Ranger a few days before. Only he and Nik were close enough to hear her, so she felt no need to dissemble about any of it. If this was to be her leader, she wanted him to understand her, and something in his eyes a few days ago had made her think he also wanted to do so. She had never betrayed her leader, whether he be called warlord or chief, and didn't want this one to be her first failure. She lost the game, but that was no great surprise and she wasn't bothered. Tactics and strategy had never been of great interest to her or of importance to her job. The company was good, though, and that was as much as she wanted tonight. They set up for a game of stones.

Suddenly there seemed to be a light at the cavern entrance. No one else seemed to notice it at first, or perhaps just not in the way she did. If they did, they made nothing of it. Some of the orcs greeted a silver-haired fellow they called Celebsul or just Cel. Garlakh, however, barely heard them or how he answered them, except for the clear music in his voice. Here was the embodiment of that beautiful and yet frightening thing she had glimpsed in the green eyes of the one who had killed her mate. With him it had been present, but fainter than this one, who fairly radiated it. She recognized the feeling now. The first time it had felt just like shock, but this time she felt the full extent and recognized both the beauty and the fearfulness of it – at least fearful to one of her kind. This one glowed brightly with it, whatever it was. This was the last thing many, many orcs had ever seen. She felt like she was shivering inside, part of her demanding to flee from this deadly danger, part of her wanting to come nearer, and be damned if whatever it was burned her until she no longer existed. This one had something she wanted – no, needed to touch. Maybe he had everything she was trying so hard to figure out. The second part won, though it was a near thing.

The light around him drew her like a moth. The elf she had met in the forest had a fainter level of it, and she had seen another on a trip to Dol Guldur who'd had none at all. That had been like opening a chest that should have had loot only to find it empty. That elf, she'd thought at the time, was disappointingly ordinary. One of her band had mocked him as a "pretty tark" and died slowly for it. It made her glad she'd kept her thoughts quiet. She'd forgotten that lightless elf, if only because he'd seemed so ordinary at the time. Now, though, the memory frightened her. If this was what an elf was supposed to look like, what had been wrong with the one who had none at all? Elf luminosity was a study for another day, she told herself firmly. She needed more to know if this one could help her escape the grasp of her old master completely.

Only when she felt a gentle tug on her hand did she realize that she had stood at the entrance of what could only be the elf about whom Gubbitch had warned her. She was surprised to find that her hands were not anywhere near her weapons. One was in Nik's grasp and the other was reaching toward the elf as if to touch him, though he was a fair distance away, on Gubbitch's other side and out of her reach. She followed the tug and resettled herself on the rock, though taking her eyes off the elf was impossible. She tried to greet him, but though she felt her lips move to form the words, her voice was locked tight in her throat.

As she continued to study him, she made it past whatever it was she first sensed and was surprised to note that he, too, was wearing that soft stuff that didn't seem capable of resisting anything worse than a stiff wind. If he had a weapon, she couldn't see it. She ferociously resisted her ex-master's command to attack him. It seemed her fascination had not gone unnoticed by whatever had haunted her since she went into Mordor. She paid little attention to the conversation, but noticed Nik's attention was rapt by whatever Gubbitch and the elf were saying to each other. All her concentration was on the elf, and if her constant fascinated gaze made him uneasy, he didn't show it in any way she could detect.

How much time passed she did not know. From the amounts missing from cups and bottles it had been two to three hours. Nik was tugging insistently on her arm.

"Do you want to talk to Celebsul?" Nik spoke low enough so that only she could hear.

The voice that had lurked within her for the past weeks whispered insidiously. With a rough shake of her head, she silenced it. Assuming the motion a response to his query, Nik gave her a disappointed look and returned to the group gathered about the elf.

Gubbitch lifted an eyebrow in inquiry to which Nik answered with a shake of his head. Celebsul's bright eyes followed the interaction then turned to meet Garlakh's eyes. It was the first time the elf had made direct contact with her and for an instant, she was sure her knees would have given way if she weren't already sitting. Everything around her faded away. There was only the shining presence of the elf and herself – dark and twisted, but herself with no trace of the master within her. Then he gave the slightest nod of his head, and the world returned.

Garlakh sagged. What had he done to her? How long had he held her enthralled? A quick look about the den proved that none of the others had taken any notice of the event. At the opening of the cave, the elf was taking his leave of Gubbitch. Nik, it appeared was returning to his home in the Wetwang and would depart as well. The urge to leap up and race after the incongruous pair was overwhelming. Somehow she managed to wait a good ten minutes after their departure before slipping away herself.

Beneath a clear, cold sky she moved silently along the path Nik and the elf would take to reach the road. Was this impulse to follow due to some suggestion of the elf, of the dark voice which haunted her, or her own choice? Garlakh did not know, but obey it she would.

Within minutes, she was close enough to hear the rise and fall of voices. Though she desperately wanted to hear what they were saying she did not dare get closer. Nik, for all his tarkish ways, was still an orc and an excellent tracker. And who knew what skills the elf possessed?

Upon reaching the road, Garlakh paused. She could not follow on the road, they would certainly see her. With little hesitation, she turned south and raced through the trees. The road curved slightly west here. By running a more direct path, she could arrive at the point where Nik would turn off home before them.

From a bramble bush that would have been impossible to use as a hiding place if she had been dressed in the soft cloth that Nik chose to wear, Garlakh watched as the orc jogged off down the path to his home. She knew from all he told her and from Warg's comments that it was a small farm on the edge of the marsh, but she had never been there. Nik suggested it once. But when she hesitated, he said it might be better to wait for spring to meet Teach anyway. Briefly she wondered if Nik's Teach would be as happy to see her as Nik thought, but then all thought of the Beorning vanished from her mind as the elf turned to stare in her direction. His eyes reflected the starlight, and the glow hovering about him increased.

"You wished to speak with me."

Did she? What did she have to say? She was an orc. He was an elf. How could he banish the voice that sought to control her? Why would he even want to help her? Their peoples had naught to do with each other save to slaughter the other.

Her thoughts were racing. The thought ran through her mind that she very much wanted to speak to the elf, but what question would she ask? She had so many she couldn't possibly voice.

Yet, he was a friend, a word she had no experience with, to orcs. She had seen it. Even the brutal Rackler had been greeted by him. Perhaps it was all a trick, a ploy to make it easier to eliminate them.

"Why would I want to do that?"

Garlakh shrank deeper into the shadows. He could hear her thoughts, confused as they were. She was trapped with no way to escape. It was almost frightening, and yet the thought lingered that if she would bare the depths of her soul to this dangerous, frightening, beautiful, bright elf, then he could help her.

"I hear only because you choose for me to do so." The elf walked along the road to stand directly before her hiding place. "From what do you wish to escape, Garlakh?"

"Him."

The word came out the merest of whispers, but the elf nodded. "You face a great battle. Tell me, Garlakh. Why did you come here?"

The years of wandering flitted through her mind. Why here? "I had nowhere else to go."

Celebsul regarded her silently, then motioned east to the broken Ethel Dúath . "The spirit of great evil lingers there. My kin work to cleanse the land, yet it remains even in the very rocks. It seeks those who will listen, those who will obey."

"No." Low and faint, then again stronger. "No, never again. No master will I obey."

The elf regarded her solemnly. "Then you must learn to be your own master. It will not be easy, but there are those who can assist you if you allow them."

He turned away from the shattered slopes and tipped his face toward the sky. The light radiating from him dimmed as if veiled. Careful of the thorns, Garlakh crept from her place beneath the brambles to the edge of the road. She looked up, wondering what he saw.

"There," Celebsul pointed to the north and traced a path of stars. "The Valacirca. Varda placed it in the heavens as a sign for all to see."

"A sign of what?" Garlakh asked.

"Hope."

As the stars wheeled slowly, two ancient enemies gazed at light unsullied by evil. Was this elf being deliberately cryptic? Who was he saying could assist her? Who was this Varda? Was that one of them? What kind of assistance could they provide? And what did he mean those stars in the northern sky were a sign of hope? Hope for what? What was hope for one such as her, anyway? If anything, she was more confused now than she had been when he walked into Gubbitch's den. The least confusing thing he had said to her was that she would have to be her own master. She knew she was still trying to figure that one out and still coming to grips with the idea that Gubbitch refused to claim the title of master over her, but it seemed bound up in the knowledge that she did not want another master. If you didn't want another master, the natural extension of that was that you were your own master. How was such a thing to be accomplished, though? She remembered all the times over the last few years where she had done the opposite of what she would have done during the war, guided by some voice other than her old master's. She remembered how it had been that voice alone who had stopped her from plunging a dagger into her own heart as she sat surrounded by the dead of her former tribe. Whose was that voice? She suddenly burned to know.

"Hope for the triumph of light over darkness. This struggle began before time, and he whom you once served was only a servant himself. It is a long tale, though. For now, it is crucial that you understand this much. Your hope and mine are not so different. If you truly wish to be free of him, and I see that you do, they are very much alike. Very few of your kin have made even that step. Fewer still have made as many steps as Gubbitch and Nik, and you, if you hold to your current path. Every time you deny the urges to kill, you take one. Every time you do something you couldn't have imagined doing when Sauron was strong, you take another. Every time you do something that would be against his purposes, such as protecting the innocent, you take another."

Memory of carrying little Garion back to his mother darted through her racing mind. She looked away from the stars to study Celebsul again. Still she made no effort to hide her thoughts from him. She stepped closer to him, standing at his side, close enough to touch his hand. As she turned her gaze back to the stars that so fascinated him, she wished she dared and wondered if she could get a little of the light around him into herself somehow. Was that light what led people away from what she had been born and no longer wanted to be? He had many answers she needed. She was sure of it. If only she could find the questions.

"I don't understand. Who can help? What kind of help? What must I do? I'm tired of hiding in fear that I might hurt someone. I'm tired of having my dreams and waking moments haunted by this voice. How many times must I deny him before he goes away and leaves me in peace?"

Her voice had briefly risen a bit in her frustration, then she sighed. She was so very tired. When was the last time she'd had an uninterrupted night's sleep? She didn't know if the elf could sense her emotions or just her thoughts, but if he could, he surely felt the weariness that rolled over her like an avalanche. Yet, she must stand. She suspected that to yield for even a single moment to that weariness would mean the end of all she wanted – or at least of her chance of finding out exactly what it was. She straightened her spine with an effort, not realizing that for a fraction of a second the elf's body had actually been supporting her as her own had sagged, their closeness such that she leaned against him without intending. Her eyes, though, remained on that northern pattern of stars. Her next words were barely a whispered plea, whether directed to the elf at her side or to those unknown others he mentioned, or perhaps all of them, she couldn't have said. She was sure he heard her, though.

"Help me. I can't do this alone." The word 'please' hung in the air unspoken, unknown to the orc, but as plain as the glittering stars above.

"We will, and more than those of us standing on this earth will, if you allow it. Yes. Look up there." Celebsul's tone had some quality she had never heard directed toward one of her kind, though she had occasionally heard tarks direct it toward one another while they were in prison and tending each other's hurts with whatever meager supplies they'd been given or had improvised. Why did it make it hard for her to breathe for a moment? She swallowed thickly. "When you meet Sev in three days, one of those who can assist you will be there. He is fighting the same battle."

She blinked at him, then her eyes widened as he explained just enough for her to understand exactly who would be helping her.


	8. A Braid is Stronger Than a Single Strand

Chapter 8

The Braid is Stronger Than a Single Strand

December 21, 1423 S.R.

"Stop sulking."

"Warg's do not sulk."

Sevilodorf responded with a snort of laughter. "Believe me, I know sulking when I see it, and you are sulking."

Warg growled, "It wasn't my fault. The hobbits said it was mine. I should be able to do what I like with my own property."

"No one disputes the fact the pig belonged to you. In fact, that's why you're in trouble. You, as owner, are responsible for the behavior of your pet."

"Pet! Wargs don't have pets. Smokey wasn't a pet. He was dinner."

"You don't name dinner," Sev replied. "Nor do you walk it on a leash through the common room, especially when the hobbits are in the midst of Yuletide baking."

"Smokey was only doing what is natural for a pig. No one gets mad at him," Warg gave a jerk of her head to the other side of the wagon, "when he sets fire to Bob's eyebrows."

"I apologize. You sulk," Raug said placidly. Nearly eight feet in height, he was too tall to ride comfortably in the wagon, so marched along enjoying the bright winter sunshine.

Warg ignored the criticism of her manners. "Besides, I was the injured party."

"How do you figure that?"

"My pig's gone. Meri chased him out of the kitchen with a broom, and Smokey headed for the hills."

"Ask Firnelin to help you find him," Raug suggested.

"After I get off guard duty, I plan to." Warg grinned toothily at the thought of teaming up with the elvish hunter. Next to going out exploring with Nik, it was her favorite thing to do. "So, can we hurry this up today?"

Sevilodorf glanced over her shoulder into the bed of the wagon. "I don't see how. We've all the presents the hobbits sent for the orcs Gubbitch won't let attend the festivities at the inn. You know Titch will want to pass out the gifts."

"Garlakh will be there?" Raug asked.

"She should be," Sev answered. "I hope she was able to complete the items we discussed last week. Smokey's little escapade took a heavy toll on kitchenware."

"It's the hobbits' fault all those pots and pans got dented. They're the ones who threw them," Warg protested.

"Your pig ate one of the muffin tins," said Raug, turning in a circle to watch a hawk. "And broke the handle off a skillet."

"Probably needed some iron in his diet," grumbled Warg. In an attempt to direct the conversation away from her, she added, "If Garlakh said she'd get the things made, she'll do it. It's what she likes to do."

"Celebsul said she did good work," Raug said. "But to do better she would need coal. I can help her find it."

Sevilodorf shifted to look at Raug. "You can? It that why Celebsul asked if you could come along today?" When Raug nodded, she asked, "Did either of you tell the Rangers what you plan to do?"

Raug shook his head slowly, his dark skin slowly fading to ash. "The captain will not be angry, will he?"

Sev hastened to reassure. "Oh, of course not, Halbarad will be delighted that you're helping." Her blue eyes gleamed. "Do you think you might find Gubbitch's crew some coal as well? Stop them from cutting down so many trees."

Raug's skin darkened, and his eyes lit with happy flames. "Oh, yes, I'm sure I can find some."

"That's good," muttered Warg. "Get the balrog to aggravate the captain for you. You should be ashamed of yourself."

"Hush. It's a good idea. I wonder why none of us thought of it before," Sev mumbled back. Then in a louder voice, "Look, there's Titch."

Garlakh finished her engraving work and smiled to herself as she dropped the last spoon into the bulging bag with a musical tinkle of metal on metal, then pushed the bit of braided leather sticking out of the bag down into it. Each skillet, fork and spoon had such a hanger strap on the handle in case the hobbits hung their kitchenware. She had taken the liberty of boring holes into a block of wood and sticking the knives down inside them. The spoon had a neat little copy of the Valacirca in the bowl. Since she'd gotten back to her den after her conversation with Celebsul, she'd worked almost nonstop on Sev's order. The forks and knives had similar etchings on the handle. She'd even put the symbol around the edge of a mixing bowl. She had added it to every piece she'd made since she got back.

Her old master had seen she was taught the skills of forging, woodworking and hideworking, but she'd decided that if she was going to be her own master, then it would start with her crafts and it was her choice how she used them. If the Valacirca was a symbol of hope for the triumph of light over darkness and a sign of light forever beyond the reach of shadow, she didn't figure it could be too bad a symbol for her to use. She hoped no one took offense. She could have sworn she'd seen that sign used somewhere before, but it was more important to her that she defy her former master with every piece than that she abide by any sense of proprietary ownership. Then again, if it was such an important sign that this Varda made it so that everyone could see it, perhaps it was meant to strengthen everyone who could take heart from it?

She'd paid a sharp price for her defiance, both in her dreams and in waking life. The voice was even more demanding and desperate, and the contents of the dream had changed as it tried to convince her the elf was tricking her. Somehow, though, she felt the slightest bit more rested, and occasionally she could escape into dreams of forging. When she was awake, every time she added the sign into a piece , she suffered a flash of pain all over her body for her disobedience. She smiled grimly. She had been taught too well about enduring pain. Given her new mission, it told her she must be doing something right, rather than forcing her to stop.

She thought of a nap, but one glance outside told her if she didn't leave right this minute she'd be late. Late would be very bad. She'd heard there would be gifts today. She was interested in seeing the orcs get theirs, though she expected to receive none. She plucked up a jingling pouch set aside for Sev, then grabbed the bulging bag of iron, another less bulky one with the sheaths, belts and other things Titch had been examining, and the wooden block loaded with knives of various size before making her way out of the cave.

Garlakh watched Raug with interest when they met, and continued to do so as they'd all discussed plans for the coming days. Raug suggested the two of them go into the hills to find the coal she was going to need for the new forge. She had planned on helping Gubbitch build it, but after Gubbitch and Jabot assured her they would get along much faster without her, she had agreed to Raug's plan. With that settled, the gift exchange began.

Garlakh laughed when Sev produced a deep blue scarf the color of a twilight sky embroidered with brighter flowers. She'd thought it was for Titch or one of the other orcs, or even meant for Nik to replace the bright red thing he wore about his neck. That would have been the sensible thing, if anything with flowers was sensible. She'd been wrong; Titch presented it to her with a flourish and a bow as Sev explained it was from the hobbits.

Garlakh blinked, startled. She'd never worn a flower in her life, even if it was one made of thread. When she'd first come to Mirkwood, one orc who'd confessed a liking for flowers was relentlessly mocked by the others in the band, if not by her. She'd just been puzzled, as she was now.

"What do I do with it?"

"Wear it, ah course!" Titch had said emphatically, then shown her how to wrap it around her neck. She was wearing only leather given the amount of iron she'd brought from the hills and discovered the warmth immediately.

"Tha can cover thy face, too, keep owt th' coal dust when tha forge," Gubbitch added.

Sev explained that the hobbits had chosen the flowers for their meanings and they were meant to strengthen her. This was doubly confusing. She'd never heard how plants could do any such thing, but she took the thought the way it'd obviously been meant and smiled. She'd have to come up with something for them when she had time.

Once the gifts of various foodstuffs and clothes were given, the trading began. Garl waited until the others were done, partly out of shyness and partly because she wanted the other lads distracted. She was extremely shy about handing that particular bag over, especially given the artwork on half of the pieces. She wasn't sure how Sev would react. The trader-woman hadn't asked for any engraving and Garlakh was honestly afraid they'd be rejected. She had other things she didn't want the lads seeing, too.

After the bags and block of kitchenware had been received with favorable comments regarding their quality, and startled if amused appreciation for the engravings had been voiced, Garlakh murmured, "…And there's this, too."

After a glance into the small leather pouch revealed a collection of silver coins and a lone gold coin, Sevilodorf replied in a similarly discrete tone, "And this would be for?"

"Talk to Gubbitch. Find out what metal parts he needs for the forge. I know he does not have the hardware here. Besides, the forge will be mine and I will pay my own way. If there is not enough there to get quality, tell me. I will get you more." Garlakh still had a fair amount of what she had brought out of Mirkwood and squirreled away in her den, though she never spoke of it and rarely had cause to use it.

"I can do that," Sev responded. "There is a smith in the village of Henneth Annûn capable of making whatever is needed. Though..."

As the woman hesitated, Garlakh added, "You will be paid for your part in the dealing."

Sevilodorf stiffened, and her voice was harsh as she said, "I seek no fee."

"I mean no insult," Garlakh said.

Sev waved off the apology. "Let us speak plainly, Garlakh. For my part, I accept the judgment of Gubbitch, Nik and Warg. They say you are to be trusted: that you mean to live peaceably. Celebsul must believe this as well. Else he would not have sent Raug to help you."

Garlakh looked to the fire pit where Raug was entertaining the orcs with juggling flaming pine cones. "You trust the balrog?"

"I do, as I trust Gubbitch and his boys, though most people name me fool or worse for doing so." Sev pointed around the glen. "This, little as it is, has been hard won. These orcs, though still the source of nightmare for many, have earned a reputation as good workers and are recognized members of the community. But you are unknown: an orc who carries coins from a dozen realms and can forge armor and weapons that rival the quality of the garrison at Henneth Annûn. I am willing to help you, but know that everything you ask me to do or whatever you ask me to trade for will be reported to Halbarad. If he says no, then I can't."

"Halbarad...your Captain."

"Mine? No, though he tries." Sevilodorf shrugged. "It's a long story. Hal and I have our disagreements, but he is Captain. By order of the King, Halbarad is responsible for this corner of Ithilien. One must have some sympathy for the man as that includes Gubbitch and his lads, Raug, Warg and Russbeorn. And you, if you choose to stay. Choosing to do so means you agree to follow his rules, even if you don't like them."

"Like you? You argued with him last time."

Sev looked confused for a moment, then shook her head. "That wasn't Halbarad. That was Bob. Bob is second in charge right now."

"But you did not obey the orders of …Bob... who was following Halbarad's orders?"

The trader reddened. "You're right. I wasn't … and I should. And, unfair as it may be, you will have to toe the line more than I do."

"Toe the line?"

"Follow the rules. The idea of building a forge for an orc capable of making weapons is not going to be looked at with favor by Halbarad or those to whom he reports. I suspect Celebsul and Gubbitch are leaving a bit out when they talk to him about you. I regret that I can't be quite so silent."

Garlakh felt a moment of despair. She would be forced to leave. A malevolent laugh sounded faintly in her mind. Firmly, she ignored it. "What would you suggest?"

"Be honest, even if it hurts, even if it seems like it's the worst thing to do. Tell Halbarad everything. If there's one thing I know, if you lie to him, even by omission, you will have lost his trust. You need to meet with him - face to face. The sooner the better." Sev reached into the bag of kitchenware to pull free a metal bowl. "Make him a cup or a bowl and put this symbol on it."

"The Valacirca?"

Sev's eyes widened. "You know its name. Most orcs don't look at the stars."

"This one does sometimes. And Celebsul..."

"Of course," Sev said. "He would. I should have known. Seems I need to speak with the elf and see how he wants me to tell Halbarad." Then with a brisk nod, she tucked the pouch of coins into her sleeve. "I'll speak to Gubbitch and be certain I understand what is needed. Then contact the smith in Henneth Annûn. However, Yule is approaching, so unless he has the materials on hand, there may be a wait. And you will make arrangements to meet with our worthy captain?"

Garlakh found herself muttering something Sev could safely take as agreement, keeping the words "some day" firmly behind her lips. However, the woman appeared to see she'd demanded too much too soon. Garlakh's reluctance and even fear were both obvious, for she had unconsciously taken three sizeable steps backward in horror at the idea of going face to face with any of the Rangers. What Sevilodorf couldn't know was that the dark voice was howling in savage glee and Garlakh was struggling with more than one demon. The woman before her was not in danger – it was the Ranger, and the voice had another name with which to torment her. She winced involuntarily under a blast of icy pain as she refused the voice's command. Sev saw the pained wince, but couldn't know its cause.

Garlakh watched as the Rohirrim woman directed the packing of her wagon and departed. Silently, she determined that while the woman would not accept a fee, a gift might be allowed. Her eyes took in the woman's stature and she made mental measurements. She'd gotten good at that over her lifetime. You couldn't make marks on someone you were making armor for. She'd have to ask someone questions, but not Sev – not if she wanted to surprise her.

Upon the departure of the wagon, Garlakh charged Gubbitch with making sure none of his lads made off with anything from her den. He gave her a look that said he would have done it even without her asking. Ducking her head in apology, she went off with Raug, still troubled deeply by the prospect of a meeting with this one who was apparently to be her new master even above Gubbitch. She didn't like the prospect at all, and she knew she'd put it off as long as possible, certainly until she was sure she wouldn't lose control and harm the man.

December 23, 1423 S.R.

Garlakh had never been part of an expedition to find coal. The veins of coal had always simply been there when she lived in the Grey Mountains and in Mirkwood, they'd made do with firewood or charcoal. She suspected the means the balrog used for locating a coal deposit differed greatly from the methods employed by her own people. In fact, after the first two hours of following the balrog up and down the hills, she was certain. No orc she'd ever met sang to rocks.

The first time Raug hummed a tune, she'd thought he was merely entertaining himself as they hiked through the twisted pines toward the tumbled peaks. Then, he had actually laid himself on the ground and sang. Her amazement must have been obvious, for he smiled. Briefly, she considered that her reaction to the flames dancing in his eyes must be similar to those of tarks faced with grinning orcs.

Raug had laughed aloud and pointed uphill. "There. Along that fold of rock is an opening. We must find it before the light fades."

Garlakh muttered something about torches, but Raug shook his head. "I've promised not to set fire to the trees, so we must go higher."

That had been yesterday. They had spent the waning light of the previous day playing hide-and-seek with a seam of coal. Raug had been amused and called the coal "Clever." Garlakh was not convinced. Though, when night fell and the temperature dropped, she discovered there were certain advantages to having a balrog as a companion.

They spent the evening telling one another their histories.

It had taken Garlakh a while to dare speaking to the fiery demon – though she thought she might prefer calling him a maia, if that was his origin, or use whatever name he'd been given when he was made. Since he chose to go by Raug, though, it was what she called him. She didn't know it meant demon.

"How did you fall? Why were you turned?" It was the only thing she could think to ask at first. She was aghast at her own question. It had slipped out without her conscious thought that she was about to ask, but it was all it took to start the conversation both knew was necessary.

"Pride and folly, as with many. Melkor was a very powerful singer, the most powerful of the ainar, those who made the world. I listened too closely when he began singing different themes. He had spent much time alone and came up with thoughts that were not a match to the will of the one who created us all. I thought I wanted to make my own mark and it seemed I couldn't do it in the original music."

She listened intently as this one who was made ere time began spoke to her of things beyond her ability to understand, and of the toll he had paid for his falling, and of how he spent years beyond counting under the mountains regretting his choice, longing to return and yet not daring. He told her of what had brought him finally out of hiding and of someone called Nienna's reminder and command to him. What were grief and pity, she wondered, and decided to ask later. In return she told him her story, every bit of it as they sought the elusive coal.

"It is a marvel to me to see the ways in which the Father's words are manifest even now before the last great music plays. There is hope in them even for you who have only now been given the choice of what you'll be. It's hope we'll both have to hold tight to if we're to become what we're meant to be. Take heart in this, though, if you can, for it is one of those small manifestations of the One's promise. It was never in Melkor's plan that you might ever, even once think of anything other than bringing death and destruction." The conversation had lightened some from there and gotten back into the realm of things she knew.

Today they'd continued to chase the coal and talk. "It's good thinking," he said to her now as they sat under a darkening sky by another campfire. They were talking about how each channeled their natures into resisting the call of the shadows. She had told him how she used her forge to clear her thoughts and settle her mind. He had seen how she marked the second half of her order. "I blow glass and help Elanna with her pottery. It's good to create where once I used my fires only to destroy. The control is a constant battle for me, to be honest, especially when I get angry or frightened. It'd be the easiest thing in the world for me to let it all go and consume everything around for several yards. Your forging is similar. Once you used it for purposes not your own. Now you have to do it for better reasons, and you have to keep constant watch on your emotions and watch what you do. Everyone does, but it's more a conscious battle for those of us who once served the shadow."

He paused, and her thoughts were briefly distracted as she watched the flames flicker down his back. She had noticed how his fire served the same function as facial expressions for those less flammable. The flames had positively danced at the sight of the Valacirca when he'd looked over at something Sev said and saw it on one of the spoons. She had also seen him almost go out when she told him what it had been like for her to realize all of her band was dead or scattered and she had no purpose. The thought of him wrathful made her flinch slightly.

"The hardest thing," he said contemplatively, "is to get close to people. You must. You can't do this alone. I can't do this alone. No one can do this alone. If I go still I can listen to the music of the world, but if I can't add to it, I'm not doing what I need to do. Once the notes I added were all harsh, clashing. We served the same purpose, you and I, if in different ways. Now, we're both trying to find harmony within ourselves and with those around us. I hesitated for a long time, just listening. I didn't think I'd ever be welcomed back into the song of Iluvatar again after what I'd done, no matter how I wanted it, but I was. We're not meant to be silent."

Garlakh watched him without understanding, though his longing, hopeful tone resonated with something inside her so strongly it was painful. He saw that she didn't understand and settled next to her on the ground as she leaned against a bag of coal and enjoyed the warmth of the campfire he'd lit.

"You don't know what I mean by music, do you?"

She shook her head. "The only music I ever heard before today when you began singing was war chants." She paused a moment, remembering a moment of semi consciousness in her den, "No, I think I heard Nik hum once."

She explained how she had been dreaming badly and Nik had somehow brought her out of it and into easier sleep. She was surprised to see the flames dance again almost as brightly as they had when he'd seen the Valacirca on a spoon.

"Good for him! Each of us has a part in an impossibly complex song, and we each have a piece to play, though it's not always literally a song – or at least you won't always experience it that way." He paused again, concentrating and somehow shaping the flames in the campfire in front of him into pictures and shapes as he considered how to explain. Garlakh blinked in astonishment, but listened, hanging on his every word. "It might be as simple an act as comforting someone who's having troubled dreams, or helping an injured child, or tilling an old man's field, or tending a fire for someone, or serving drinks and listening as they tell you of their woes and worries. Everything we do, for good or ill, adds to the music."

"How did you do it? Reach out I mean. I'm afraid I'll slip up and kill someone, especially the Rangers. He wants them, and I feel like if I slip just once… They have something I need … I saw them in my mind, and I've laid eyes on the one who was at the trading glen last week…Bob?" Her words were halting as she struggled to explain what she saw, and all the tarks did look alike to her, except for the pretty little woman. She'd seen several from a distance during the months she'd been in the area and wondered idly which one Halbarad was.

The balrog nodded acknowledgement that she'd remembered the name right.

"I know about that," Raug said with a sigh, "and in your case it's more than simple fear holding you back, but once that's handled…" He paused again, arranging the flames into a spiral reaching toward the stars before gently letting them return to their normal shape. "I'm closest to Sev, Bob, Cel and the hobbits. They're all good people. Hobbits are curious beings, and these ones, at least, enjoy life like it's a giant feast laid out just for them. Hobbits love eating, and they love drawing people into friendship and are great at giving encouragement and making you want to protect them." The flames danced again in his eyes when he noticed Garlakh touching her new scarf. "…and they can do it before you've even seen their faces, it seems," He finished in a soft tone she had never heard. "They'll be delighted. It's not an easy thing to do, though, coming out of your shell. I'm embarrassed to admit how many times I had to hide in the privy and how many times I burned it down in my first few months at the Troll."

"What's friendship?"

The balrog puffed a deep, smoky sigh as he considered that one. "Such a simple word and yet so hard to explain to one who has never known it. I can tell you it's wanting to be around someone because of who they are, not what they do. I can tell you it's enjoying someone's company just because of their personality, and that perhaps you have interests in common with them, and that you would protect them and they you, and how they can lift your mood when you're down and you can do the same for them. Without feeling it, though, it's only words."

Garlakh was as confused as he thought she'd be. She'd known orcs whose company she'd enjoyed, but none of them had been around long and she didn't fool herself that any of them cared a wit what happened to her as long as she could forge, nor could she honestly say she had given much of a care what happened to them as long as they lived to serve her warlord. Nor had she ever expressed to any of them when she was feeling sad, like when she missed her mate. She'd always poured anything she felt into the forge. Orcs were just not made of such stuff.

Except this one was, it now seemed. She also remembered watching a couple of human prisoners slide close to one another and hold each other close. It seemed to help them, though she didn't know why. There was another long pause in which she curled her legs and wrapped her arms around her knees, staring into the campfire as she tried to puzzle out Raug's words. Did she have friends now? Was it really possible that she could?

The balrog watched her face as the silence continued. He took a minute to calm himself fully so as not to burn her, then slid close and let one of his long arms drape around her. Both seemed like it might be a step too far for now, perhaps for both of them. First she startled, but before he could move away and apologize, she relaxed and laid her head against him. His words were the low rumble under a snapping flame, soft and barely heard.

"Yes, you can and I think you already do, more than you realize. Take Nik for just one example of the ones you do know, though."

As she took in Raug's words, confusing as they were, she relaxed against him and concentrated on the feeling she had with his arm draped around her like this. It felt a little like it had with her mate, she remembered, but somehow stronger now. The warm, calming, quiet feeling was more like being wrapped in an enormous fur blanket that covered her from outside to the deepest parts of herself she couldn't name, quieting even that gibbering part of her that feared constantly. She didn't think it was because of Raug's almost feverish warmth, even though he had determinedly suppressed his flame. She ignored the acrid smell of sulfur that surrounded him. She somehow felt safe here, despite the balrog's admitted occasional trouble with controlling said flame. She nestled against him, her eyes turning up to the northern sky, though this night what she sought was hidden behind clouds that had begun to roll in as they'd talked. She frowned slightly, disappointed when they proved too thick for her to even get a glimpse.

"It's there," said Raug reassuringly, as if he knew where her thoughts dwelt. "It's always there. Trust me. I often enough look to it myself."

Garlakh contented herself with that. Her thoughts fractured and slid away and she fell into an exhausted, deep and, for once in a few months, untroubled sleep. The balrog was about to move away when a slight snore alerted him to the fact that she had literally fallen asleep on him. His face gentled and he carefully wrapped her cloak closer around her before returning to holding her gently, then he settled himself to listen to the music of the world and try to weave in what he could of a balrog and an orc both in search of peace and, for a moment at least, having found it, finding his own rest there. He didn't even singe a hair on her head, nor on the rabbit-fur cloak that was pressed against him all night, which pleased him greatly.


	9. The World Will Not Wait for You

Chapter 9

The World Will Not Wait for You

December 24, 1423 S.R.

The next morning, they finally located the opening to the vein of coal. It would require widening if any of the larger orcs was to mine, but they marked the cleft in the rock and set to filling several bags with loose bits that had been shaken loose by earth tremors. Then Raug sang a new song and to Garlakh's amazement plotted out a path from the coal deposit to her den that required only two steep descents. Gubbitch wouldn't let her in when they arrived with the coal.

"Ah want it ter be a surprise," he'd said with a toothy grin and a gleam of anticipation in his eye, and he had Rackler take the coal.

With a shrug, Raug suggested they make several more trips to the coal seam and also that they take tools and carve steps into the rocks at the steepest places to make the trip easier.

All that day, they hiked back and forth from the mine to the den, and never again was the leader seen. It was always either Lugbac or Rackler to respond to the whistle that announced another load's arrival. When they arrived at the den just after nightfall, they were surprised to be met by Celebsul. This was a highlight of the day, though she didn't dare tell him so aloud. Perhaps he could read it from her thoughts. She didn't try to hide them. Each time their eyes met, she again had a brief vision of herself untainted by her old master. She didn't understand what was happening during those moments, but appreciated them and hoped to some day make them true. She knew that if she was ever going to answer the questions that plagued her, he had to go. It couldn't happen fast enough to suit her. Beyond the light that surrounded the elf, she could look deep into his eyes and see that he possessed the qualities for which she had no name and longed to reach. Sauron, or whatever he was called, had to go. It was that simple. The question remained how to make it happen.

Celebsul had brought an enormous basket of foodstuffs from the hobbits. "The ladies were delighted with their new kitchenware and insisted I bring you samples of the first foods prepared in them."

Garlakh shared the food he offered with him and Raug. Dinner turned out to be something he'd called pumpkin spice muffins along with a crock of venison stew and biscuits. Celebsul dished out half the basket, leaving the rest and its unknown contents for the morning. It was just as well he had eaten before he came and contented himself with a single muffin. Nearly everything else was scarfed up in a blink by the ravenous pair who had been lugging coal all day, leaving just enough for breakfast the next morning. Raug admitted that he didn't need food in the way Garlakh did, but he enjoyed it for the taste when he could manage to eat it before he burned it.

"We've got to get back to The Troll tomorrow afternoon."

Dinner was long gone now and they were talking. She had just asked if they were going to get more coal tomorrow and the balrog had shaken his head with what she thought might have been regret.

"The hobbits will be decorating the common room tomorrow. The day after I will go with Sevilodorf to Henneth Annûn. Then when we come back there will be two nights of special dinners with guests from as far away as Minas Tirith. The bartender can't miss those without having to do a lot of explaining, and I think Nik's going to sing, too. I don't suppose we can talk you into coming? Or to the Yule celebrations next week?"

The question was asked hopefully, but the flash of fear in Garlakh's eyes was answer enough for both of them. Raug understood her all too well. "No? Well, there's time. Some day you'll join us and I promise you'll enjoy it."

"We'll be goin', too," came a harsh voice from the darkness and Gubbitch approached, grimy from his day's work. "We'll be skivin' off early tomorrow neet. Me, Titch, Hooknose and Lugbac, probably. You ought to go to th' den ter sleep. We ain't done wi' thine yet, but ours is warmer than the cold rock.""

"Maybe I will, and be sure you tell me about the party." Garlakh said. There was actually cause for debate. Could she deal with all those orcs wanting to rut with her? Did she really want to? She'd become a rather solitary creature over the years since the war's end. On the other hand, there was something to be said for a windbreak, a fire and a blanket.

"In th' mornin'," Gubbitch continued, "take Rackler, Erzog, Muggin and Masher ter th' coal vein tha marked out an' 'elp 'em widen it fer minin', then mark th' path fer us goin' toward our den."

Celebsul and Raug offered to mark the best path since it headed back in the general direction of the inn, Garlakh's chosen spot being further north and more secluded.

Gubbitch accepted their help with a nod, then continued, "We'll be finished with thy forge by New Year at this rate, got word Sev will pick up thy metal bits when she goes to village day after next. She'll not be trading with us due to all the folderol at the inn, but me and tha lads will go to Troll and get yer bits and pieces. Yer job is to focus on coal. " He wiped his hands on his trousers, leaving dark smears of coal dust. "Oh and th' ore tha asked fer will be ready too. What're tha gonna do wi' tin an' lead?"

Garlakh grinned, though it tilted sourly after a moment, an expression nearer to despair and frustration. Raug's expression indicated to the others he was surprised. She had seemed cheerful enough to him while they were lugging coal, if preoccupied from time to time, and it soon became obvious what was eating at her.

"Sev's idea. I'd rather have silver ore, but I'm not sure I sent along enough coin for that so I didn't even ask. I'm going to try and make something pretty for the captain. For all the good it'll do me. They aren't comfortable with me and especially not my skills. She feels like she's got to report everything I ask her to do to him and she insists I meet with him face to face. How does his having the power to naysay anything I ask for make me more free than I ever was?"

Something rubbed her wrong about having to be allowed to do what she'd always done, particularly when that thing was the one thing that had ever given her any contentment. True the forge was being allowed to be made, but if this captain ever tried to tell her what she could and couldn't make, there'd be trouble if only for her. What could she do if they tried to restrict her? It suddenly felt that she'd broken one set of chains only to stumble into another pair that had remained invisible until they were around her. The dark voice roared with triumphant laughter at her almost palpable despair and frustration.

"Tha'll 'ave ter, eventually," Gubbitch agreed, though not without sympathy. "E's a good man, though. Don't grudge their caution."

Garlakh gave a disgruntled grunt and her voice dropped to a growl and grumble. "I agreed. No choice really, if I want any hope of staying here, apparently, and I owe you that much. No point having a forge made that's not going to be used." She grimaced and they could all see she was very unhappy at the prospect of the meeting. then her voice rose to a more normal speaking volume. "I'll do no such thing, though—don't look at me like that, elf." For Celebsul was giving her a look of slight reproach.

Though her voice was harsh with frustration and annoyance at the demand, her calling him elf had not been done in the hateful tones typical in the last centuries on the rare occasion orcs and elves had spoken, nor in mockery – it was only frustration. "You know what's going on, all three of you do. I'll do it in my time, not some shiny ranger muckety-muck's. I'll meet him, and that's a promise I made Sev and I make again to all three of you, but not yet. Not until I know I can do it safely, no matter how much everyone says I have to do it. I can't even look at the one called Bob without-"

She fell silent, unable to find the words this time to explain what happened, but the memory of her encounter with the ranger rolled through her mind – the howling commands to kill him and the sharp, icy, ever-increasing and all-over pain when she flatly refused it no less than four times, and that'd just been when they were face to face. It didn't even count the demands she'd refused when he was out of sight. If Celebsul was paying attention, there was no way he could miss it, and she made no effort to hide it from him. She shivered violently, though the wind was calm and it wasn't a bone-chillingly frigid night. The clouds that had started to roll in last night were providing full cover. The night was starless and kept in what little heat the sun had given before the breaks had closed.

Her voice softened. "Of all the things I ever did wrong in my lifetime, breaking a promise isn't one of them and I'll not do it now, but I can't meet him until I'm sure it's safe for him as much as for me. It might be a month or it might be a year, but I will not do it before then unless forced to it somehow."

"The world does not always wait for our pleasure, Garlakh," Celebsul said quietly. "The captain is a good man, but there are many forces guiding his choices. He has agreed to a delay for now. All will work out as it is meant to be."

Though his words provided little comfort, Garlakh was forced to accept them as closure of the topic for Celebsul and Gubbitch determinedly changed the topic to a discussion of how the orcs could best use the coal Raug had found for them.

December 25

The sun wasn't even up yet as the orcs started moving. Raug and Cel were long gone. Garlakh had slept outside her den around a bonfire with the other orcs, who'd opted to just stay there since it would have taken them longer to get back to the den than it did to build a good fire and sleep where they were. Many of the orcs were already off hunting breakfast, which left Lugbac along with the four Gubbitch had asked her to take to the coal.

Erzog was a wiry orc with short, thick chestnut hair that covered his head like a carpet. He, too, showed the marks of a smith. He'd not been at any of the trading days so far, being one of those Gubbitch usually had out doing things for others. He'd also been one of those who'd tried to impress her with his skills as a fighter and lost. He'd been one of the least upset about it, grinning almost as much as Gubbitch had when their spar with the wooden weapons had ended in a draw. Garlakh was tempted to see if she could learn from him, but now wasn't the time.

Instead they split the other half of the basket Cel had left, discovering ham, bacon, some kind of grainy stuff Erzog said was oatmeal as he pulled out a pot to fill with water to warm it, something Lugbac said was called cream cakes and a jar of cold white liquid. Lugbac had them all laughing helplessly as he'd tried to break the first cake in half to feed a piece to Garl and only ended up squishing it and making a sticky mess of his fingers. He turned his head every which way trying to get his tongue into all the crevices on his hand and lap out the sweet cream. When he'd finished his hands he picked up another one and tried to toss it whole into her mouth. It landed short in the dirt, which caused even more laughter. He shut her up, at least, by hastily plucking it up and shoving it into her mouth, which made the rest of the lads laugh even harder while she struggled with the mass of dough and cream. She joined them in the laughter once she'd managed to swallow and retaliated by doing the same to him. Breakfast, then, was a merry affair by the standards of orc kind.

After breakfast, Lugbac went into her den to start whatever his task was for the day while the rest gathered tools and climbed the hastily made path to the coal mine and set to work.

Rackler seemed to be anticipating her every wish and leapt ahead of the rest. He made sure he worked the hardest throughout the morning, then he broke off to hunt lunch leaving the rest to work until he brought it back. After lunch he was again the one expending the most frantic effort on the task at hand. It seemed at first she hadn't noticed, too wrapped up in discussing smithing techniques with Erzog, but when she had returned to the orcs' den and thanked him for his help that night along with the others, his face broke into a beaming smile that lasted all the way until he got slapped again just before midnight for trying to rut with her. At least she hadn't broken any part of him that time.

Much of the next week was spent the same way. Once the widening was done, another three orcs were sent to help with the mining so there'd be enough for both Garl and the rest of the band. Erzog was switched out for some other fellow who never spoke a word, so she took to calling him Mute like the others. While it seemed cruel, it was also true, as she learned soon enough that he'd had his tongue cut out for some reason long ago and could only communicate with someone who had the time and patience to figure out his drawings. Few among the band had time or patience, but he understood instructions and managed to give them well enough in a pinch when Garl needed something explained, so it worked. He came to like Garlakh because especially after work, she would sit and 'listen' to whatever he had to say.

Rackler continued to try to anticipate Garlakh's every wish and also to try to sneak some alone time with her, which she studiously avoided, most nights by the simple expedient of losing herself in the hills instead of going to the den. Sometimes, she stayed with the other orcs, though, and there things with Rackler came to a head in a loud argument followed by yet another fight as he expressed the astonishing belief that Garlakh would rather rut Raug than him. Since she had never once thought of rutting either of them, this was puzzling in the extreme. As his trousers dropped around his knees, he tried to force her against the wall. She was just about to punch him full force somewhere he apparently valued more than his face when he was suddenly yanked back so hard he fell flat on the floor. His trousers and shoes were both abandoned with the force of the yank, the shoes flapping across the floor as if briefly alive to prop against Garl's boots. She blinked in surprise.

"Are tha too dumb ter see wha's reet in front o' thy fizz? Th' lass ain't 'avin' thee and tha're jes' chuffin' 'er off! An' Raug's owt o' th' question, too, tha soft dollop! Min' wha' few manners tha got!" It was Gubbitch and he'd plainly had enough. "Put thy cloothes back on. Tha're embarrassin' thesen!"

He insistently pointed and prodded the huge orc off toward where much of the rest of the band was gathered watching the spectacle. Given the nature of orcs, the laughter was long, loud and mocking in the den except for the small corner where Garl and Gubbitch stood. Garlakh just glared after the fool. He had his uses when it came to hard work, but she was sure he didn't have enough brains to fill a single circle of one of the hobbits' new muffin tins.

"Daft chuff," he muttered. "Anyway wha' I came ter tell thee is Erzog says 'e's got sommat ter show thee come th' morrow."

"Where?"

Gubbitch pointed to the crude forge.

"'e says 'e ain't mastered it but 'e's good enough to give thee th' idea. Good lad, Erzog. 'e's got a brain in 'his 'ead."

"Good. My fingers have been longing for some metal to work."

Thus Garlakh passed another night among her own kind, struggling as usual with the dreams. She'd taken to sleeping nearest the wall in the same secluded part of the cave as Gubbitch so if the lads saw anything during the night, it was only their chief in his usual place.


	10. Unexpected Common Ground

Chapter 10

Unexpected Common Ground

January 2, 1424 S.R.

Garlakh stepped out of the chill dusk and into her den and blinked. In a few ways it looked the same, but in many others it had changed. There was the same basic shape to the cave and the same stream. Her pallet was right where she left it. the natural shelves were still there, once again bare since she'd traded the leathers on the last trading day she'd attended. That, however, would soon be mended. The tannery was the same, all the cured and unworked hides still apparently in place, but there in the working area also stood the forge of her dreams. Right at eye level were set colorful stones in the shape of the Valacirca. It was such a contrast to the otherwise solid grey forge that it was sure to be noticed, and that was undoubtedly the intent. Gubbitch grinned when he saw her eyes catch on it, for he alone had added that touch at Celebsul's suggestion, and no other of his lads. He didn't have the appreciation for the stars, but if she did and if that helped her, so much the better for everyone.

The forge's proportions were just right for her height and she could make anything from a cup to a pike. Gubbitch and Titch walked with her now, explaining what had been done. Gone was her collection of wooden molds and barrels. Instead stood several stone molds like she had only heard of, and a trough through which the stream had been partly diverted. They had even made a kind of tool rack on the forge so her tools would always be handy, and the anvil was properly settled now. There were even supplies for her to get into the techniques which Erzog had spoken of and tried to demonstrate even though he'd admitted to not yet mastering them. The molds were also Erzog's addition.

"I owe you. The tools won't be enough to pay this debt."

"They will," Gubbitch grinned. "I know thy type. Tha'll make 'em special like."

Garlakh blinked in confusion at him. How could he know her type? He was right, for she'd gloried in the chance to make her old warlord a longsword out of silvery steel when he got hold of an ingot of it, but she'd never mentioned it. What had he seen in her? Gubbitch, though, only grinned toothily and nodded. "Tha will. The first thing tha need ter do, though, is mek sommat ter amuse thesen. Get to know thy forge. We ain't goin' anywhere."

"Amuse myself," she muttered absently. "Want to watch?"

Gubbitch shook his head. "Nah. Fired it up once jes' ter mek sure it burned reet, but you'll be th' first to make owt and tha dun' need eyes on thee."

She looked at the forge. It might have been lit, but if so it had been cleaned with fastidiousness most unusual among orcs.

Gubbitch and Titch departed, leaving her entirely alone for the first time in weeks. In the relative silence she stared at her forge. What would she make? What was she in the mood for? Strangely enough, she was suddenly reluctant to touch it yet. A bone-deep weariness tugged at her. She had slept lightly indeed among so many, and if she slipped into a deeper sleep the dreams were always waiting. Here at least she knew she was alone. She stepped outside to drink in the sight of the Valacirca and the other stars for a moment. Cold and remote as they seemed, she found she wished to see them since the weather had denied them to her for the better part of two weeks. Then she went in to sleep, holding the sight of them like a blanket.

January 3, 1424 S.R.

She'd slept the sleep of the exhausted, though it wasn't quite dreamless. She dreamed of her time at the orcs' forge rather than her old master, fortunately for her mood.

"Mah problem was always patience, 'n bad eyesight," Erzog had said of his own experience. "They taught meh da mixture and it ended up bein' my batches they used most, but ah culdn' do it reet mesen." And he'd explained the colors she was looking for. All night she had dreamed of using what he'd taught her. If work could be done in dreams, she'd have been well on her way to a knife, but alas she had no such luck.

She was about to set to work after a breakfast of sausages and Sev's tea when there was a crunch outside and a rap on the cave wall.

She moved to the entryway curiously only to freeze in utter shock and horror. The voice howled gleefully inside her. There stood Nik and Warg, sure, but there also stood an unfamiliar elf and one of the rangers. She could have sworn it was the same one she'd seen with Sev. She shot Nik a sharp look. Her question came out strangled, so fierce was the spike of pain that went through her as she resisted the commands to kill the tark.

"Do you know what you risk? Does he know what he risks?"

Nik shuffled his feet and dropped his eyes briefly, then looked up and met her eyes with a determined glint in his as if willing her to hold fast, but it wasn't his voice that broke the brittle silence first. Garlakh had gone rigid in pain again.

"Celebsul trusts you. I trust Celebsul, and you interest me now that I understand what I watched. You aren't the first one I've seen do battle with specters of the past." The tark's voice was firm, yet there was an edge that spoke of both remembered sorrow and anger.

Garlakh blinked and stared at Bob. She marked it as perhaps a good sign that Celebsul was being of some aid to her already since she could at least hear what was going on around her. She stared deep into the man's eyes. How could she tell him it wasn't just a memory? The voice howled all the louder and sent stabs of pain through her that made her knees wobble. _He_ was somewhere a hundred leagues beyond furious at her resistance, but she could and would do no less.

As if the day weren't confusing enough, it wasn't the tark who spoke next, but the elf. He stepped from behind Bob so she could see him more clearly. With his hands in plain view, he caught her eye and looked long at her. She noticed that his light level was more akin to those she had encountered during the war, present but not as obvious as Celebsul's.

He said something in his native tongue that she didn't understand, but the music of it served as a distraction though the voice sent wave after wave of mind-bending pain through her.

"What – what did you say?" she gasped through the pain and staggered against the wall of the mountain.

Warg sensed that Garlakh was dealing with all she could handle, though she'd made not one threatening move. She was sure the orc would pass out rather than surrender. Butting her furry head under Garlakh's elbow, she offered her support as the elf translated to the Common Tongue.

"I said, peace. You will not harm him."

"Make sure I don't!" Garlakh rasped as she staggered and bunched her hands in Warg's fur to keep upright. She didn't see the look of pain that crossed the elf's face at that emphatic order, nor did she see the startled look that crossed Bob's. It was the first time either had ever heard an orc ask - nay demand - to die rather than be allowed to harm someone, which told both something crucial about her.

Then it was Nik's turn again. "Let's get inside, Garl. I hear you have a nice new forge you were supposed to test out. What've you made?"

All but crippled by pain, Garlakh leaned heavily on Warg as the others followed her into the cavern. The elf spoke again before she could answer Nik.

"My words were no threat, Garlakh. You will not harm him because your will is stronger than that which seeks to control you."

Warg helped Garlakh to the forge and prodded her to look at the Valacirca inlaid there. "Cel says you've taken a liking to that. I don't have his care for the stars, but he's usually right about such things."

Garlakh gazed for a long moment, and did her best to send a silent cry for strength to whoever could help her resist. With one last flash of pain that dropped her to one knee despite Warg's support, the voice fell sullenly silent, thwarted yet another time. Garlakh leaned against the warg, panting as she recovered. The rest looked on in a mixture of pity and awe, though only the warg could see and catalog their expressions. There was movement and conversation around her now, but she was too busy recovering to notice what was going on until a hand lifted her to her feet by her elbow. She expected it to be Nik, but it was Bob. The voice stirred, but she put it down again as she studied the man.

"Nik asked what you made," he reminded softly.

"Nothing yet," she said, missing Nik's shocked expression that she hadn't dived right into forging. She looked at the forge and knew what her first piece would be.

"Make us something!" Nik was insistent, though his expression was an encouraging smile rather than a demanding look. He pointed her to the coal he'd set out. He knew the calming effect of forging on her. She noticed belatedly that he was still wearing that red scarf.

As Garlakh prepared the forge she learned the elf was named Firnelin. All four of her visitors had accompanied Sevilodorf on her first trading mission of the year. Upon discovering that Garlakh would not be present, Nik had suggested a quick visit to check upon her after leaving Sevilodorf under the watchful eyes of Gubbitch and Lugbac. All had decided to accompany him.

"Why would you do that, Ranger? Did your captain send you? The trader-woman is insisting I meet him, but I thought I might have more time." She grimaced in annoyance as it seemed she now had none. The voice stirred restlessly and again she put it down, suffering another flash of pain for her trouble. She was surprised at the almost rueful look on the man's face.

"Well—uh no…" He cleared his throat and gave a rueful shrug. "I came this far with Sev as it's my turn to do a perimeter patrol out past the Morannon. Nik's idea of visiting gives me an opportunity to offer my apology for startling you a few weeks ago."

Garlakh gave an amused snort. This was surely going to make him late in returning from his patrol and he'd have some explaining to do. Disobedience to Captain Halbarad seemed to be contagious. Unwrapping her scarf from her neck and covering her lower face, she said, "If you've scarves, put them on."

She grabbed an ingot of her best iron. If this Ranger was going to risk his captain's wrath, she would give him something to remember their meeting by. If any of the gods of the world watched over smiths and that one was willing, this would be her best piece ever. He looked as if he had the build to use the knife she'd been dreaming of making. The flash of pain was as sudden as it was unexpected, and she almost dropped the tongs as she fed the ingot in to heat. Plainly her former master was not pleased with her plan. That, as far as she was concerned, made it a very good one. She smiled to herself at the thought of making a knife for a Ranger of Gondor. Sit on that and rotate, Sauron.

"An apology from a tark. That's a first for me, and," Garlakh slanted a look in Bob's direction, "mayhap a first for you as well."

She cut off his response, but saw his half amused, half ironic smile and understood completely. "To do this right will take more than a few hours, but it seems I need to get used to talking to tarkil, and while I'm doing something that keeps me calm is as good a time as any, if you want to stay and watch."

Bob hesitated for only a moment. "A most gracious invitation. I have some small skill with blacksmithing and would dearly love an opportunity to observe a true master of the craft. However, Sev ..."

"AAAhhh – choooo!" Warg sneezed three times in rapid succession, drawing all eyes to her. Then wiping her paw across her muzzle, she said, "You all can stay if you like, but this is no place for a warg. Sorry, Garlakh, but... ahhhh-choo!"

Firnelin stepped forward. "As I believe Bob was about to remind us, Sevilodorf will be waiting to be accompanied back to the Troll. If Warg is agreeable, she and I will assume guard duty while Nik and Bob accept Garlakh's invitation."

With Warg's sneezes growing explosively louder, acceptance of this plan was reached quickly, and the elf and warg departed quickly.

"Now, what will you be making?" asked Bob, settling his gear in the corner. Then he and Nik removed their outer garments to stand in shirtsleeves and eager expressions.

"Nik, get some of those skins to use for aprons. Wouldn't want to ruin those pretty shirts."

Bob grinned and accepted the leather covering. "No, it doesn't pay to make hobbits angry. And they would be decidedly upset if I burned holes in this one too."

"Too?" asked Garlakh, adding coal to the fire.

"Raug had a little accident," Nik said, as he wrapped his red scarf about his face.

Voice muffled by the grey and green scarf he had pulled over his mouth and nose, Bob said, "My fault really."

Conversation from there was surprisingly easy as Bob related the tale of what had happened to his brand new Yule shirt and then asked questions that proved the truth of his claim to smithing skills. Occasionally, Nik chimed in with a tale or bit of song when the conversation lulled. When he sang the work seemed to go easier, and Garlakh found herself humming along. She used every tip and technique Erzog had told her about, achieving the colors he had described but been unable to demonstrate. This knife would resist wear better than anything she'd ever made in Mirkwood. As had become her way, she engraved the Valacirca on it. When the others slept and the metal was cooling, she made a new sheath that would better fit the dimensions of this particular knife, tooling the same sign on it. She grinned with satisfaction as she attached a hilt whose grip had been shaped just for Bob's hand. As he prepared to leave with the dawn she handed him one of the finest longknives he had ever seen, certainly the most finely-balanced as it had been made with him in mind.

"Tell Sev I'll have her cup made by the next time I see her, but I won't make the next trading day either. I owe Gubbitch and his lads a bunch of tools before I can do anything else, so maybe by the next one. Just don't let your captain hear about the cup. It's for him and I think it's supposed to be a surprise."

Bob smiled. "There's a lot of surprises in store for Halbarad."

"Oh!" Nik suddenly gave a frustrated sigh. "I almost forgot, Garlakh. Raug sent this."

From somewhere in his pack he pulled out a thickly wrapped bundle that jingled musically when he unwrapped it and carefully let the shimmering thing revealed dangle in his hands. It was glass, but glass as she'd never seen it before, with many colors shimmering in each piece. She'd never seen glass so shaped or colored. All she'd ever seen were bottles that most often held some brew or other. The centerpiece and the one from which all the others depended was a flame wrought in red and orange glass. She counted the pieces hanging from the flame, noting there were fourteen with each different in shape and hue. The number seemed vaguely significant to her, stirring memory of something Raug had said. She was overwhelmed by the beauty of the thing and her vision blurred for a moment.

Bob whistled. "Raug has been to Orodruin again, it seems. My sister, Elanna, is Raug's partner in glassmaking, and she told me that the materials for those vivid colors can only be gathered at the volcano itself. The pieces make music when they move. Shall I hang it for you?"

Garlakh nodded her consent, and Bob took it from Nik, hanging the chimes in the entry from a stone knob she'd not noticed before. By the smoothness of it, perhaps it hadn't been there before. Though it clearly was now. It was a marked contrast to the roughness of the rest of the cavern, and the hanger for the chimes fit perfectly, holding them securely in place. Its placement immediately proved fortuitous as a slight breeze caused the chimes to tinkle almost immediately, sending surprisingly soothing tones through the cave.

With the gift given, and more promised, they all departed. Once again she was alone. After a good sleep she set to work on her debt to Gubbitch, again using Erzog's techniques so that the tools would last that much longer.

January 14, 1424 S.R.

The atmosphere was merry in the orcs' den this night. They had just taken delivery of the first batch of tools that morning from Garlakh, and the work where they mined their stones had gone easier for the fresh metal. They were taking longer than she'd expected, but she was using everything Erzog had explained to her to harden them up properly for the use they were likely to see. They'd last longer than any tool she'd ever made before. Several more loads were due, and there would have been fighting over these new and shiny things except for the hierarchy that yet commanded orcish culture. By that standard, Gubbitch and his officers would have gotten the first and the best. In this case it was only the first, since Garlakh had told Gubbitch that there would be no drop-off in quality.

"It wasn't just you, Titch and Jabot that did the work. All your lads helped and they're all to see the benefits."

"Good call," he agreed. Then his face crimped into what passed for a teasing expression. "Ah'd better be watchin' mesen or tha'll end up with my job." They both had a good laugh.

As Titch and Jabot paraded around showing the other lads what they'd be getting, there was a great degree of confusion over the marking on every single piece.

"Tha oughtta come ter th' cave wi' us and see thy tools in action," Gubbitch suggested.

"I might one day, but I need to put in at least some effort to make something for Sevilodorf lest she forget I exist," Garlakh quipped, "then I'll have to get on that next batch of tools for the lads."

Then she tried to explain to Lugbac what the marking meant since he was the first to come up and ask.


	11. Lessons in Holding One's Temper

Chapter 11

Lessons in Holding One's Temper

January 17, 1424 S.R.

They had settled into a cave to the north of hers the day after she returned from delivering the tools to the orcs. Garlakh knew not what brought them into these mountains in the teeth of winter, a choice they had to be regretting – or would be if they had the sense of a goose, to borrow one of Gubbitch's more amusing turns of phrase. Half a dozen strong, all in beaten, blood-stained, travel-worn, woodland-camouflage leathers. One even wore one of those stars like a Ranger. She had avoided them easily enough as she could see better than they in the dark. Last evening, she'd gotten a good look at the one wearing the star from a distance, crouched behind a rock where she could see him but not be seen. She was willing to stake her life he was no Ranger.

There had been a look in his eyes more akin to that seen among her own kind than any ranger was likely to display if the Rangers she had seen in her mind in Mordor, and in the flesh at the trading glen and even at her own den were any example of true Rangers. Those had something she was trying to find. This one, though, no. He was a jackal, dangerous to his own and to anyone else who crossed his path. She had seen his kind many times. During the war they had occasionally been her allies. After, she killed them without remorse when they threatened her or anyone else.

There was little in these barren hills to hold their attention for long, and as soon as they realized how often the Rangers patrolled they would leave quickly enough. So long as they left her alone, her first impulse was to ignore them. But it was trading day. Men like these would steer clear of a large band of orcs, but a lone woman was just the prey they sought. Especially one in a wagon filled with valuable goods. If they saw Sevilodorf on the road, even with Nik and Warg nearby, they were likely to attack.

For nearly an hour, Garlakh stared at the thin stream of smoke produced by the men's fire. The insidious voice of her former master urged her to go to the men and join them. They, not the puny weaklings who allowed the tarks to treat them as lowly laborers, were her kind, and with them she could do great things. That course, Garlakh firmly refused.

But she also chose to reject the idea of going to the Rangers with her knowledge. If they found nothing, the men would leave and none would be the wiser. If she told of them, there was every chance the rangers, at least, would assume she was part of their group. For all of Bob's polite ways, they were suspicious of her, especially Captain Halbarad. She would tell Gubbitch if it looked like the men were going to stick around much longer because he, at least, would know better than that. There was no time now, so today she would tread the delicate path between the brigands and rangers. Neither fish nor fowl, she would go about her business, but be extra vigilant. No harm would she allow to Sevilodorf, the rangers, any travelers or any of Gubbitch's crew, but no alarm would she sound either. If there was any luck, the men would simply go away and take the trouble she smelled with them.

Her mind made up, Garlakh gathered her pack and tucked a certain cup into a pouch she'd sewn in her cloak. She also picked up her bow and quiver. The one with the star carried a bow as well, and it was best to be prepared.

Almost immediately, she discovered the men were more devious than she had believed. The smoke was but a diversion, for all six of the stinking tarks were on the move. Almost, she admired their woodcraft. Flitting from boulder to tangled copse to shadow, they were difficult to track except for their stench. But their failure to note her presence left her wondering about their eyesight.

Garlakh cautiously followed the six down through the hills. When they caught sight of Gubbitch's lads in the trading glen, she all but laughed at their obvious surprise. After a spirited conference involving much hand waving and a few solid wallops from the leader, the group retreated toward the road. Garlakh settled her pack in a cleft and followed them for a short distance. When they moved quickly north on the road, she broke off her pursuit. As she had thought, they were scavengers and would make no move to confront a group like Gubbitch's. Luckily enough, Sevilodorf had not yet arrived, so the tarks would not be tempted.

After what seemed hours of waiting, there came the clip-clop of horse's hooves and the rumble of wheels. Garlakh stayed in the hills above the glen until she could see the wagon. Yes, it was Sevilodorf accompanied by Warg. A quick survey of the road north and the nearby area proved the six men were nowhere around. Maybe things would work out after all.

Distracted as she was by thoughts she could not share, the trading session passed quickly. She nearly returned to her den to keep working on the tools for the lads, but that voice that had given her so much good guidance over the years since her old master's fall was bidding her to wait. Confused, she did, forcing herself to focus. She moved closer so she could hear, and it soon became obvious trading day would be cut short. She'd thought to deliver Sev's cup, which she'd nearly forgotten, but it was clear today would be a poor day to approach the woman. She could hear her and Rackler arguing now and the woman was clearly in a foul mood. Rackler had that effect on everyone, but she remembered that she hadn't seen Sev smile even once today even for the more pleasant of the band.

"Two coppers, Rackler. That's all they're worth," Sevilodorf stated bluntly. "Take it, or leave it."

"Good stowans these are." Rackler shoved a grubby paw in the trader's face. "Jest like tha ones last week. Four coppers yer paid then. Ah wants four today."

"I've already explained." Sevilodorf jabbed at the stones in Rackler's hand. "They are not the same. The others had stripes of red. The jeweler will pay more for the ones with stripes."

The enormous orc snarled and bent down to glare into the woman's eyes. To Garlakh's astonishment and delight, Sevilodorf glared right back.

"Get out of my face. Gubbitch warned you before about such behavior. And I'm telling you now, either take the two coppers or this will be the last trade I make with you." Sevilodorf's face had gone red, and she waved her arm toward the road. "You can walk to Henneth Annûn and deal with the blasted jeweler yourself."

Rackler swelled like a dead toad in the sun, but Lugbac and three other orcs jumped between him and the trader-woman. Ignoring his howls of protest, they pushed him to the other side of the glen and promptly sat on him. Warg rose from her place by the fire pit, stretched and scratched behind one ear, then sauntered over to stand before the trader who was clenching her fists and muttering curses that made nearby orcs step slowly away.

"Is that any way to treat your customers?" Warg asked with a yawn.

For an instant, it looked as if Sevilodorf would launch herself at the warg. Then through gritted teeth, she said, "Trading is done for the day."

Sevilodorf stomped to the lean-to and began to toss items into crates and bags.

Titch rolled his eyes with a disconsolate sigh as he trudged over to Warg.

"I'll be 'earin' it from Gubbitch for Rackler showin' his hind end. 'e'll set 'im straight though."

"It's not your fault, Titch," Warg offered in consolation. "She's in a bad mood. There's still been no word of her missing loverboy. She has less patience than even her usual with all of us, and she had such a loud argument with the captain this morning that the hobbits are sure the hens won't lay for a month."

This earned Warg an icy glare, for Sev wasn't entirely out of earshot, but Warg was unphased. She'd been the recipient of plenty of those lately. Garlakh frowned as she overheard that Sev's man was missing. That explained the lines around the eyes and mouth of the woman. Sadness, indeed, Garlakh thought with a pang for the woman she didn't realize was called sympathy, sadness enough to break a heart. Orcs weren't meant to care for people, or so she'd always been taught – though she thought she was beginning to do so anyway, but humans could and did care, and clearly this man was very dear indeed. She watched as Sev packed with far less than her usual care. More than half the band remained holding small bags of stones or hides, both cured and uncured. All glared balefully at Rackler, who was sullenly rolling his apparently inferior stones between grimy fingers.

"I give up my day to follow you here and then you don't even stay." Warg grumbled in an attempt to distract Sev.

"You're more than welcome to go off into the woods and hunt for that blasted pig of yours," Sev snapped as she slung a bag into the rear of the wagon. Warg winced at the sound of breaking glass, but Sev merely shrugged and turned to lift a crate of stones. Lugbac got there first.

"Let me, missus. Tha's 'eavy."

The huge orc lifted the box as if it were empty and placed it with far more care than Sev was taking with other things. The pungent scent of mingled ointments pouring from shattered bottles set Lugbac's eyes watering. Warg gave a snort and moved upwind of the wagon.

Titch approached with a pile of rabbit skins. "Can take th' trade next week, missus, but Warg might like knowin' ah saw a pig wi' a bow 'round its neck las' neet. Din' give it much thought cause ah were pretty smashed at th' time."

"Where?" Warg did a most undignified dance that she would deny if anyone ever mentioned it again.

Titch scratched his head. "Ah was standin' at the pool. Not the one by the den. The other one by the big pine. Ah like that pool cause the stream trickles and makes a reet nice sound. Sort of like Celebsul playin' his flute."

Lugbac nodded. "And when the wind is blowin' the trees sound jest like …."

Sev rolled her eyes and blew out a long breath. "Tell you what. Titch, you take Warg to the pool and show him where you saw her pig. I'll take Lugbac and go."

Warg looked from one orc to the other, then to Sev. "You'll go back to the Troll?" Her tone was emphatic. Though the words were phrased as a question, it was closer to a statement or an insistent reminder, Garl thought as she watched unnoticed by the others.

"Where else would I possibly go? Hal threatened to..." Sev stopped, obviously aware of the many listening ears. "Never mind. Leave it at, yes, I will go back to the Troll."

The warg narrowed her eyes and tipped her head. "I'll trust you then. Titch, let's go."

Titch whispered to Lugbac, "Look after 'er real close. Ah'm sensin' trouble, but ah can't nail down where it is."

With one last shattering crash another bag was tossed in with less care than it required. Lugbac winced and blocked Sev's path to the remaining items. "Ah'll do it, missus," he said firmly. He knew the woman wouldn't be happy with herself once she calmed down and realized what a mess she'd made. "Yer go hitch up Dysig."

With a few sharp commands, Titch ordered the other orcs to get Rackler back to the den and to explain to Gubbitch where he had gone. Within moments, the trading glen was emptied of all save Sev, Lugbac and Garlakh, who was as convinced as Titch that trouble was close at hand.

Garlakh swore quietly, but lengthily and inventively when she saw the wagon turn north along the road rather than south toward the inn. Whatever errand sent her that way, the woman was driving right into trouble. Though the scavenging pack of tarks was out of sight, Garlakh knew they had disappeared northward. An unfortunate change in the wind meant they were out of smelling range, so there was no way to tell if they were close by. She plucked up her pack and hurried through the trees to shadow the wagon.

As she came even with the wagon, Garlakh studied Sev's angrily determined face briefly from her spot within the trees, and wondered just what the woman thought she was doing. She'd clearly lied to Warg. Warg would not be happy, and Garl thought she'd be glad not to be around for that argument, unless there was no argument because Sev had no intention of going back to the Troll at all. Where was that daft chuff, Lugbac? She couldn't see him on the other side of the wagon because he was directly opposite Sev, who was several feet taller by virtue of having a wagon seat. Moving quickly, she managed to get slightly ahead of the wagon in order to scout for the men she knew were near at hand.

Save for the steady clip clop of Dysig's hooves and the rumbling of the wheels, all was quiet. It was too deep into cold weather for many animals to be foraging, and those who didn't have to be moving were staying buttoned up tight in whatever holes, dens and inns they could find to keep warm and dry. Well, anyone or anything with sense was. Garlakh bent to examine each broken branch or print in the hard-packed earth and nodded. At least one had come this way, but he had crossed the road. She cursed and nocked an arrow, just in case. Those men could easily get the drop on Sev. They'd had hours to set up for anyone coming this way., She'd try and stop that, but if she couldn't, she vowed they'd get no more, and they'd pay in blood for any harm they inflicted.

A fickle breeze caused a branch across the road to sway and drew her eye just in time. The man with the star was visible behind the branch, his bow drawn and pointed in Sev's general direction. Garlakh swore yet again and got into her own stance, firming her aim on the man.

A sudden shout of "Halt!" and simultaneous twang-thunk indicated that not all who were in the area had the sense to keep to their own business, and the ambush was sprung just as Garlakh dreaded. Luckily, the man's aim was not true. A black-fletched arrow stuck in the seat of Sev's wagon, half a foot from her right leg. Before the arrow had stopped quivering in the seat and before Sev had time to do more than blink, it was answered by another twang-thunk and a shriek of pain as the one who sent the arrow learned too late that he was not unmarked. But the first arrow had been the bandit leader's signal and Sev found herself surrounded by the other five. Garlakh, who had of course been the source of the second arrow, sighed. She couldn't shoot now, lest an arrow go astray. Melee, it would be, then.

Before the bandits could do more than draw weapons and demand Sev's money and possessions,a blood-chilling battle cry sliced through the cold air as a furious whirlwind hurtled out of the woods and into their midst, weapons flying. The element of surprise could go both ways in the span of an instant. Lugbac, who was just about to attack the brigands himself in Sev's defense, froze for an instant in shock at the chilling howl, looking around to see whether there were others and who they might attack. The shriek was answered by five human cries and a startled neigh from one shocked horse. The white whirlwind ducked as Sevilodorf proved she was not as helpless as she appeared, drawing a six inch blade from a sleeve and throwing it toward the nearest bandit. The man went down with a knife in his throat, but there were still four.

Another knife whiz-thunked. Make that three. Lugbac was looking for an opening, but he found he couldn't predict where the white whirlwind would be from one moment to the next and set himself to at least making sure he was positioned between Sev and the threatening men, and just in case the whirlwind turned on them when it was done with the bandits. Meanwhile, Garlakh used mace and knife to good effect, gutting one man with the dagger and cracking another's skull with the mace. The last had a long spear, and she had trouble getting to him. As she parried, dodged and weaved trying to get inside his guard, he thrust the point at her again and again. His blow was first to land, going along her ribs and tearing through the edge of her new cloak, worn mail hauberk and the leather beneath to score flesh. The rusty hauberk absorbed a goodly portion of the blow's force even as its links gave, though, so the spear did not go as deep or as true as its wielder intended. Had she been wearing anything less than mail, she'd be dead even if she managed to take him with her. She ignored the fiery blossom of pain and stumbled forward as he brought his spear back for another jab, smashing his face in with a howl of pain and fury so that he, too, dropped to the ground, dead or dying.

That accounted for five. It was over in less than a minute, though it seemed longer to Garlakh. The silence that followed was all the more profound for its suddenness. She gritted her teeth against her pain and warm blood poured down her side. The spearman had clearly scored a serious blow. No time to worry about what had been cut or broken, though. Where was number six? Cursing quietly, she sheathed her weapons, traipsed off into the woods and found him where he had dropped. He was still alive, but he wasn't going anywhere without help. Her arrow had gone into the side of his knee and clear through, ripping the inner workings to shreds. Try though he did, and he doubled his efforts when he saw her, he couldn't get up. She retrieved the bloody arrow and swore. She'd gone for a kill shot. He must have moved immediately, but not quite quickly enough. This was the one who wore a Ranger's star. Maybe it was as well this one was still alive. Someone who was better on his worst day than this man would be on his best must be missing. Garlakh dragged the man by his greasy black hair back to the wagon, doing her best not to show any weakness from her growing blood loss and her difficulty breathing. She knew broken ribs and that spear must have slammed bone on its way through her side. The man hurled curse after curse at her. Though she was impressed with his vocabulary and inventiveness and made a mental note to remember a few of the more creative curses, it did him no good.

Exhausted, she dropped him in front of the now skittish horse, then looked up to Sev. Focused on the fight at hand, she didn't see Lugbac staring at her agog, nor hear him muttering admiration for "the berserker".

"Last one. Dead or alive? Your call, mistress."

A breeze blew her hood back, and only then could Sevilodorf and Lugbac clearly see who had provided such timely, unexpected and costly aid. As Lugbac's eyes widened in further surprise, Garlakh put her knee on the man's chest and knelt, hunching and pressing a hand to the wounds in her side to stem the bleeding. She could count it a blessing her lungs didn't appear to have been pierced, though a flash of pain in her side proved at least one rib was definitely broken. She wasn't coughing up blood, but the wounds from that keen spear were no joke. Some weaponsmith knew his trade well. The man writhed frantically beneath her, jarring her constantly. She gritted her teeth and drew her dagger, letting it rest against his throat as she waited, its touch feather-light, but no less ominous for the iron control with which it was wielded. She looked at the man under her, and for just a moment let the look in her eyes remind him she was born and bred an orc and had no compunction about taking his life if the woman on the wagon seat told her to do so. She was definitely angry enough not to give two pins. Though he wore a Ranger's star, he was a coward at heart and went very still at the look of murderous rage. Garlakh put more of her weight on him, partly because it was getting harder to keep upright and partly to make her point with the man that he was in her power and at her mercy, which hung by a thin thread.

" _You're going to let some silly weak human make your decisions for you? Kill him and eat him. How long has it been since you had that tark delicacy you like?"_ the insidious voice purred slyly.

She ignored the suggestion and swayed as she received a fresh jolt of pain for her trouble. The pain in her ribs paled in comparison, but she refused to yield.

She did not realize she was starting to lose color from blood loss, for although she had managed to slow the flow somewhat with her hand, the mechanism her old master used to cause her pain also took a toll on any other weak point the body had, and freshly-inflicted spear wounds and broken ribs definitely counted. The flow increased again along with the pain. She looked back up to the trader. It was still her call.

The pain increased as her master tempted her with the scent of a certain fried delicacy only possible to get from the tark males, a delicacy she had preferred during the war but forbidden herself after it. Again and again she refused. Her white cloak was turning black with blood now. Sevilodorf said something, but there was a roaring in her ears now in addition to her master's voice and she couldn't hear the woman's words clearly. The last thing she saw was the eyes of the tark as she pitched face-first onto him, banging his head. Somehow, just before she passed out, she managed to turn the dagger blade so only the flat was pressed against the man. The last thing she heard was a cry of dismay – or was it two cries? She knew no more for many hours.


	12. Self-recriminations, Reports and Underst

Chapter 12

Self-recriminations, Reports and Understandings Reached

Nik was late for the trading day and getting later. It had been one of those mornings where nothing was really all that wrong, but everything had an extra wrinkle in it or just took longer than it ought. Now was another example. He was absolutely sure he'd put some of last season's honey aside for trading. It was honey from the first bee hive he had built and populated himself, so Teach would let him do as he wished with the products from it. He studied the shelves where he usually left things meant for trade, thumping his leg in frustration. He just could not find it! He gave a quiet exasperated grunt, careful not to disturb Teach, who was asleep in the big chair by the stove. Getting down on his knees, he searched the lower shelves. Ah yes, there it was, finally. He gave a relieved sigh and scooped up the jars, telling himself to be more organized. Wrapping the jars in cloth to prohibit breakage, he tucked them as quietly as possible into a leather bag.

He hurried out of the house, careful to latch the door behind him, and up the path to the road. Almost running now, he moved quickly up the road toward the trading glen. About three quarters of the way there he caught sight of Sev's wagon rumbling toward him at speed she normally didn't ask of her draft horse. He looked up at the sky. It was only noon, trading shouldn't have been finished already. What was wrong?

"Mistress Sev?" He called urgently when the woman was in earshot.

Sevilodorf lifted an acknowledging hand, but didn't answer until she drew to a halt in front of him.

"Nik! Thank goodness! Hurry, climb up and take the reins."

"What? Why?" asked the little orc hoisting himself up beside her. The stench of unwashed bodies, human and orc blood assaulted his nose, and he twisted to look into the covered portion of the wagon even as Sev thrust the reins into his hands and clambered over the seat.

"Garl!" he cried.

Nearly unrecognizable without her armor, Garlakh lay half naked amidst a jumble of bags, crates, oozing potions and shattered glass. Beside her, his clothing streaked with black blood, Lugbac knelt pressing a blood soaked cloth against her side. The huge orc was muttering, "Talk ta me, talk ta me, talk ta me," but Garlakh wasn't responding.

"Nik! Snap out of it! Drive!" shouted Sevilodorf, digging frantically in a bag half under Lugbac's leg.

As Lugbac twisted to get out of the way without releasing the pad of cloth, an agonized groan erupted from what appeared to be a tangled pile of clothing. Nik's eyes widened as he realized it was a man. A hogtied man, now swearing as crudely as any warg-rider of Isengard.

"Sorry," Lugbac said, automatically. When the man cursed even louder, the orc kicked him directly on the knee stained red with blood. The man howled, which caused Garlakh to jerk away from Lugbac exposing the gaping wound in her side.

Nik gasped. It looked to be the result of a spear. Ah yes, and there was the culprit lying nearby in a pile of weapons. Weapons Nik had never seen before. "What hap..."

"Later," interrupted Sev, hands smeared with the pungent ointment she was scraping from a broken crock and slathering on Garlakh's side. Her voice rose to drown out the bound man's complaints. "This should stop the bleeding. Get us home, so I can care for her properly."

The prisoner laughed. " _Skai, glob_ – proper care for _pushdug_ is the _ghâsh._ "

The man laughed again and continued in Black Speech, his voice harsh as stone. A shadow seemed to fill the wagon and Nik clapped his hands over his ears as Lugbac snarled with rage. For a moment, it looked as if Lugbac would snatch up the spear and drive it through the man's body. Miraculously, the orc restrained himself and shoved the bloody pad of cloth in the man's mouth. Then ripping off a piece of his sleeve, Lugbac wrapped it roughly around the man's head. Unintelligible grunts were all that could be heard through the makeshift gag.

Nik inhaled deeply, then blew out a long breath and said, "Thank you, Lugbac."

"Yes, Lugbac, that makes things much better," Sevilodorf said in a brisk no nonsense tone. "Now, slide around here and lean against the crate of stones. Garlakh needs to be propped up. We'll sit her up, and you can hold her in your arms. Nik..."

"I know... drive... home."

"Please."

Nik settled on the wagon seat and took up the lines. With a snap, he set Dysig in motion. Sev had said "home". Well, that's where he'd take them. As the wagon bounced along, he could hear Sev speaking in a low, steady voice.

"That's right, Lugbac, you can take the jarring better than she can. Hold her steady. Since the bleeding is slowing, I'll wrap the ribs. It will help her breathe."

A quick glance over his shoulder showed Lugbac seated with his back against a crate and his feet braced on the side of the wagon. As carefully, even tenderly, as anyone could have asked, he settled Garlakh into a reclining position against his chest, one long arm around her while Sevilodorf wrapped a long piece of cloth tightly about her torso. Black blood continued to seep from the wound, but Nik could see Garl's breathing had eased.

"It shoulda been me ter fight all those men. Ah was supposed ter guard yer. Gubbitch will 'ave me 'ead on a stick," Lug said disconsolately. Then looking up and catching Nik's eyes, he added, "You shoulda seen 'er fight, though, Nik!"

And he was off, describing every crack of the mace and stab of the knife. What took less than a minute in life took five times that because Lug needed the reassurance of talking about something he understood. Lug knew he no longer lived for battle, but he was still orc enough to appreciate one who knew how to fight and could kill in an instant.

Nik listened until Lugbac wound down and could only agree with his assessment, but something else needed to be done, too. Actually, a lot of something needed to be done. From Garlakh's pallor and the pile of soiled bandages, she'd lost more blood than was good for her.

"Yes, Lugbac, without her, neither one of us would be here to tell the tale."

Sev's voice held a mixture of anger and regret that cause Nik to turn full around on the seat. For all of the length of Lugbac's retelling, there were few details concerning exactly when and where this had occurred. Where was Warg? Sevilodorf wouldn't have come from the inn with Lugbac. Just as he was about to put some of his thoughts into words, Garlakh groaned.

"Good, she's coming around." The relief in Sev's voice was evident. "Nik, could you pass me the water bag from under the seat?"

He reached with his free hand for the water bag and passed it back.

"Come on, Garlakh," Sevilodorf said quietly as she touched the mouth of the water bag to the orc's lips and squeezed a few careful drops from it. "Don't choke on this."

"More." Nik felt a hard knot release at the sound of the raspy voice.

"Just a little," Sev responded and tilted the bag a little and squeezed a few more careful drops. Nik could see the water go between Garlakh's lips. He saw her throat bob as she took the water. He nodded with relief and pulled the wagon to a stop.

Sevilodorf placed a hand on his shoulder. "Nik, what have you done?"

"Brought you home." He turned and looked into the woman's blue eyes. "Teach will help us. It's better for Garl here. And that's what counts, isn't it?"

Sevilodorf's eyes filled and for a horrified moment Nik thought she might actually cry. Then she pressed her lips tightly together and gave a sharp nod. "Yes. Garlakh is what counts. I promise you, Nik, I will see that she recovers. It's my fault, and I will make it right."

Nik frowned. There were so many questions he wanted to ask. For now, he would focus on getting Garlakh well.

"Visitors?" a gruff voice boomed from the door of the sturdy farmhouse. "Did I invite visitors?"

Sevilodorf visibly paled. Nik patted her arm and whispered, "Don't worry, his growl is worse than is bite." Then in a louder voice, he said, "Teach, my friend is hurt. She needs our help."

Russbeorn placed his hands on his hips and frowned at his small pupil. Then with a growl, he said, "Better bring her inside." With that, he turned and disappeared back into the house, leaving the door open.

Midnight

Garlakh floated slowly upward from a black chasm of unguessable depth. She could hear voices nearby, she thought a man and woman, but she was still too far down to recognize either, if indeed she knew them. Why would she know a man and woman? Why would she be near a man or woman?

She continued to drift toward consciousness, and the closer she got, the less she wanted to get there. Pain was waiting, she sensed now. Pain and more than pain. There were strange smells in her cave, or was it even her cave? Nothing was familiar. She continued to drift.

Touch was the next thing to return, adding more pieces to her current puzzle. She wasn't wearing her armor, nor did she feel the reassuring weight of her weapons, or even her boots. She didn't feel anything that might have been restraints except for the wrap on her ribs. That was good, she thought. There was some soft thing surrounding her loosely from shoulder to calf, and she thought it might tangle on her rough skin if she moved. Something warm was covering her from her chest down, maybe a blanket. Speaking of soft, whatever was under her was soft, too. She was also pleasantly cool, especially around the neck and face. All of her tribal markings, even the one on her neck, would be visible. It was one of the random thoughts that floated across her mind as she drifted toward consciousness.

Finally, as she drew closer to the waking world despite her desire to return to sleep, she recognized the woman's voice as Sevilodorf's. The woman was talking to the man, she thought. Then an indeterminate amount of time later – it might have been one minute or ten to Garlakh's scattered thoughts, the woman's voice began to fade. She was leaving, the volume of her voice fading as she said something to the man. Then there was a click as if a door closed and the woman's voice was gone.

The man came closer, to judge by the sound of boots on wood for all that he was stepping quietly. His musky scent filled her nostrils as if he was leaning over her. Something was wrong, wrong, wrong. She wasn't where she was supposed to be. That was as certain as anything Garlakh knew. She tried to gather her thoughts. They were slow in coming. When they did come, she realized quite a lot was wrong. She remembered the aborted trading day, the ambush on the road and knew then where she must be. Sev had to have brought her back to the Troll to tend her wounds. That meant, then, that the man leaning over her was most likely a Ranger. That was definitely not good, at least, not for her.

The dark voice inside her cackled, insisting she just reach up and strangle the nosy tark. She refused the command, but with the first flash of pain, she knew she didn't have the strength for this battle today and it could literally be the death of her. That would suit her old master just fine, but not her. She felt weak as that little white runt warg that had been born in the last litter in the mountain before the war ended. She tried to send a silent call for aid to whoever would listen as she opened her eyes, and mercifully the voice fell silent, though not before the man had the opportunity to see a flash of the mind-shattering pain her old master was inflicting.

Her troubles were not over, though. He was right there. Black hair with strands of grey, eyes of a curious blue-green color, rather kind eyes, she thought, looking into them, though she was never sure of tark emotions. They seemed full of the things she was seeking to find and understand,. Nonetheless she was afraid. There he stood in his full uniform, fancier than Bob's, so this must be Captain Halbarad.

She did not want to meet this man! Not yet. Not until she was certain she was no longer a threat. Clearly, though, she had no choice. She began to pant for breath, suffering the feeling there wasn't enough air in the room, then to cough, which of course only led to more misery. He seemed to see her fear. He certainly saw the results as her ribs began to spasm and roar with pain. She saw his eyes soften with understanding and even what might have been sorrow, then close briefly. He took off his gauntlet and laid his warm hand over her diaphragm, rubbing in slow circles.

"Shhh," he soothed. "I won't hurt you. You're safe here, Garlakh. Listen to me. Feel my hand. You need to slow down. Breathe into my hand. Right here. In, out. In, out. In, out. …. Slowly, slowly… Good. Very good. Breathe, just breathe… There now. You'll be all right, it's not so bad as that, I promise."

He kept up a similar crooning and cadence as he rubbed her diaphragm for a couple of minutes, making a show of his breathing until she had both her breathing and her fear under control. She was watching him in amazement. No orc she'd ever known during the war would have done that. He smiled.

"Not the circumstances under which you would have chosen to meet me, nor I you, but I at least thank Eru I have the chance to meet you today, and to thank you."

Eru. The word rolled through her mind, stirring again the same vague memory of something Raug had said, but clearly this was not the time to ponder it. She must have been giving Halbarad a dumbfounded look, for he laughed, a warm, inviting laugh like a big blanket, or a campfire, it seemed to invite her closer.

"You heard me right. Thank you. Sev and Lugbac, well mostly Sev, told me what happened out there on the road. Nik and Lugbac are right outside the door and they're extremely worried about you, you know."

Something flashed briefly in his eyes as he mentioned Sev, something cold and hard that she was glad wasn't directed at her. Her instinct would have been to reach for her weapons if it had been. "Sev should not have been going that way, but I'm glad you were out there and alert. Was that just chance?"

Garlakh shook her head silently, provoking a sharp lift of an eyebrow in apparent surprise.

"I have a lot of questions I'd like to ask you, and there'll be time. Sev says she needs to watch you for several days yet. Most urgently, though, I need you to give me your report on the men. I need to send it along with the prisoner to Henneth Annûn. Do you think you're up to that?"

Garlakh gasped in pain as she tried to push herself up a little further on the pillows. Hal tsked softly and helped her, then moved away to pour her a mug of water.

"You'll need this, I think. Careful now, drink it slowly."

Garlakh gave a sheepish little smile. He was right, she had been just about ready to guzzle it.

"Sorry, Captain," she said. Her voice was a weak rasp, little more than a whisper due to her overall weakness at the moment. He'd have to listen sharp if he wanted answers from her this day. She was putting most of her effort into staying awake and concentrating, but she looked around the room, still disconcerted by not knowing where she was exactly. She was relieved to see all of her possessions in a corner, though she suspected the hauberk and cloak were beyond saving.

Halbarad smiled gently, then settled in a chair beside the bed, taking out what seemed to be tools for writing. Garlakh had seen such things once, but never learned the use of them.

"Now, talk to me," he said. "Start from when you first saw the men."

Garlakh hesitated, gathering her thoughts as she looked out a window. "Still trading day?"

He shook his head. "No, that was yesterday, technically. It's midnight. Is the day significant?"

Garlakh nodded. "I first saw them three days ago, then. Went out to see about a rabbit for dinner. I'd been working on a load of tools for Gubbitch and the lads all day, so I don't know when they moved in. Was wanting some fresh meat…."

She trailed off and took a sip of water, her thoughts wandering briefly before she shook her head. She was exhausted. She almost wished she hadn't opened her eyes, but the man had to ask his questions and it really was best to get the prisoner out of here as soon as practical, she supposed.

"Saw them out gathering firewood," she continued. "I kept clear. I always do. You Rangers know that. I've seen all of you I think, but made sure you never saw me. Only one I can tell apart from a distance is the pretty little woman. Rest of you look alike to me. Anyway I smelled them as easy as I saw them. I don't need to explain that if you've got a prisoner. Glad I managed not to kill the idiot, by the way."

Halbarad wrinkled his nose in agreement. "We've got more than that. We've been to the sight of the attack. We brought the bodies and belongings of the dead ones back as well to get them off the road. Bob's dealing with the pyre now, but we got good drawings that we're also going to send along. The 'pretty little woman' is my wife Elanna, and I'm sure you'll meet her soon. I think you'll like her. Go on, though."

"Bob's sister?" She was surprised. His answer was a smile and a nod.

"That's right. He'll be pleased you remembered, too."

Garlakh took a sip of water. "I watched them to see where they went and counted them. I saw six. They went into a cave a bit north of mine. They stayed there for the night, but I didn't like the look of them. Couldn't put my finger on why, just that feeling down in your gut, you know what I mean?"

Halbarad nodded. "Some call it intuition. Yours and my cases, though, I think we'd call it warrior instinct. You've seen your share of battles I know."

"Aye," Garlakh whispered. "Always preferred my forge but … well, that's beside the point. I didn't get a rabbit, so I went on back to my cave and got some sleep, then worked on – oh did Sev…?" She couldn't ruin the surprise, after all. It was In her cloak, though, and surely Lugbac or the woman had found it.

Halbarad pointed at Garlakh with his quill. She looked confused, then saw he wasn't so much pointing at her as at her hands. She peered down at the mug, or rather into the cool water, and saw the Valacirca glinting at her from its depths.

"And thank you again, by the way," he said.

" You're … welcome?" She was uncertain what the correct response was. Orcs grunted and nodded by way of "thank you", "you're welcome", or other niceties. They were better at voicing insults. She looked up in time to see his smile.

"So you spent the day before yesterday working on my mug?"

"Aye," she rasped after another sip of water. "Went out looking for some more firewood for my fire-pit a couple nights ago and saw the lot of them out again. Caught a good look that time, though I don't reckon any of them saw me. I'd seen their type. Honestly, Captain, during the war my band had at times allied with men like that. And just as honestly, after the war, I've killed men like that without remorse if I caught them threatening travelers. I don't know how many nooses are waiting for me for admitting to that, because I don't know how many I've killed in your king's lands and how many in others', but I've had to put down a fair few over the last … nearly five years now, is it? I can't tell time so well. This I vow, though, before the one who created the world – Eru is it? Raug tried to tell me a lot when we met but most of it just didn't sink in, and he used a longer name too I think." Hal nodded and she continued. "Every single one I ever killed after the war was threatening someone."

She took another slow sip of water, then looked down into the mug for a long moment, gazing at the Valacirca as if in search of strength. She was really, really tired, more tired than an orc should ever be after a victory. The sooner she finished this, though, the sooner she could rest. She looked back up. "So the others went back in, but that one fellow who's now your prisoner stayed out a bit. I got the best look at him. You know the look in his eyes. That's when I also saw that star he's got. That's when 'I don't think I like this' went to 'look sharp because there's likely to be trouble'."

She saw Halbarad didn't understand, though he was writing just as fast as he could write. She explained.

"That star, he might have tried using it as a prop and come up with some tale about new tolls or whatever and killed those who didn't pay." Hal nodded. He knew the tactic.

"Like I said I've seen men like that. Used to serve in Sauron's armies, some of them, though I reckon there are enough of them that never did, too. Hard, cruel men who seek out and destroy anything that looks like an easy mark. I followed them this morning. The voice was telling me I ought to join them rather than sticking to Gubbitch's lads, but I wasn't about to do that. Thought about telling one of you if I could find you, but … and thought about telling Gubbitch …"

She trailed off. "But?" Halbarad asked into the protracted silence when his quill caught up with her narrative and still Garlakh hesitated.

She drained the rest of the water and stared at the Valacirca in the bottom of the cup, remembering Sev's advice to her during their last encounter. "Be honest, even if it hurts, even if you think it's the worst thing you could do. If you lie to him, even by omission, you'll have lost his trust."

What trust? She gave a mental snort, though some of the bitterness she'd been feeling toward the man had ebbed in the last several minutes. Did she have any of his trust now? Well, if she did, she might not in just a minute. Honesty it would be, though she found it suddenly did hurt after the look in the man's eyes she'd seen on her waking.

"I couldn't." she finally continued. "I couldn't bring myself to do it. I don't trust myself around you lot yet because of the voice that haunts me. I don't know what Bob told you, so I'll tell you that later if you still want to talk to me when I'm through in a minute, but it's not so important to the report on these bandits."

"I didn't want to meet you for a very long time, you know, not until I was absolutely sure I wouldn't harm you, any of you. The trader-woman insisted I meet you in particular and sooner rather than later, whether I was ready or not… well, those last weren't her words, all she asked was that I make arrangements to meet with you in person sooner rather than later, but orcs know orders when they get them and to follow them sharpish if we don't want trouble of one kind or another. and also… well you don't trust me, or you didn't. You Rangers are suspicious of me. You especially, Captain. I understand you've got to protect your people, but it's not easy to seek out someone you know doesn't look favorably on you. I've always been measured on my skills, on what I could provide my band. It's the only way I was ever measured, forging and fighting, fighting and forging. Yet here that's cause for suspicion. I feared you'd think I was in with the rabble. I gave my oath to Gubbitch and it seemed to me that ought to be enough for a good long time, but apparently not. I told Celebsul I wouldn't meet you until I was sure I could do so without bring any risk to you and he said the world wouldn't wait on my pleasure and there were other forces you answered to. Not real comforting, you know."

She sighed tiredly and continued. In for a copper, might as well throw the whole gold piece at him and see how fast he'd shift her out of here.

"Of all the things I've ever done wrong in my life and I'm not sure I can tally that high, breaking a promise isn't one of them. You know how orcs fight among themselves for position in a tribe. I never did. I earned my position because I was the best at what I do and my warlord knew he could count on me to do a job I told him I'd do, and do it real well. I ended up as one of his better fighters, too. Was one of the few in the band who could give him a match, but I always considered myself a smith first. Through the century or so I was with my last tribe, there were several times some of the band would try to get me to overthrow my forge-boss before I was appointed to the position, or to overthrow my warlord, or to get me to split off and start a new band. I would never go along and if I heard of any serious plot against him, I warned him. I once even killed one who was about to try to kill the warlord while he slept. There were more than a few plots and ambitious orcs to come through the tribe over the years. Someone always wanted more power than they had. I didn't expect to gain anything from him, it just seemed wrong somehow to plot against him, though that's how it is among my kind. I wanted nothing to do with it, and he knew it, and he appreciated that all I wanted to do was my job and that I gave him no trouble. That's an extremely high degree of trust he gave me among orckind. Understand that. Next time you talk to Gubbitch or Titch or Jabot or any other intelligent orc you might happen to meet, ask them how many they were able to trust that far during the war. I'd be willing to bet few if any of them ever had someone they could count on that completely."

"I never betrayed my warlord during the war and I will not betray my new chief, but here everything I know and everything I do makes me untrusted even though I've done everything I know to get right with your king's laws. I don't like it, Captain. You'll never find in any stack of reports since the war's end where I've stolen anything from anybody or set fire to a farmstead and killed and eaten the residence, or any of the things my kind are justly known, feared and hated for. I vowed to set all that aside after the war and I've done so."

"Sev says you have the power to naysay anything I might ask her to get or do and she's going to report every bit of it to you. I'm having to be allowed to do what I've always done. There's something wrong with that. How does that make me any freer than I ever was when my heart and mind weren't really mine and the forge was the closest thing to wholesome pleasure I had, though I didn't know the term at the time? I said I would have no master, captain, and I meant it, but if you have that kind of power over me, then you are in effect acting as my master even if you use a different title."

She stopped, still staring down into the unfortunately empty mug as the quill scratched. She wished it contained a lidless eye. She wanted a very, very strong drink and that was the strongest she knew short of dwarven whiskey she'd occasionally enjoyed as loot during the war. There was a silence as he apparently finished writing for the moment. She didn't dare look at Halbarad. She was afraid just how angry he might be. Her shoulders slumped.

"You probably didn't deserve all that, Captain," she whispered, her throat dry, her voice no more than a whisper he had to strain to hear from all she had just poured out. "I've felt pushed, pulled and stretched lately in a lot of ways. If you'll get me some more water, I'll appreciate it. That's why I couldn't bring myself to find one of you, though, I fear I might slip, you don't trust me and so I don't trust you. I can't trust people who don't trust me. It's harder not to trust you after looking in your eyes a bit ago, though. Your eyes have the same qualities that I've been searching for since the end of the war. That's a discussion for later, though, if you still want anything to do with me. I need to finish giving you this report before I fall asleep."

There was a soft sigh from the man, not of exasperation or wrath, she thought it sounded more like sympathy. The chair squeaked, pale hands reached into her vision and gently relieved her of the mug, then footsteps went across the room. Water sloshed gently and the footsteps returned with a full and blessedly cool mug. A finger stroked gently over the back of her hand for a few seconds as he looked down at her. Still she couldn't look at him, though if she objected to his touch she gave no sign of it. Actually, it seemed she sagged slightly toward him for a moment before a hitch of pain in her ribs brought her up short with a start that sloshed the water in the cup. He gently straightened her and arranged the pillows behind her. The chair squeaked again as he sat.

"Look at me, Garlakh." The voice was as gentle as his touch had been. He waited until she brought her eyes up from the mug's depths to meet his, and it was plain she was near the end of her strength, without even the strength to try to disguise how tired she was. "Sev was right to ask you to meet with me, though I'm sorry for the distress it's caused you and I think she is as well. I have met every one of Gubbitch's lads. It's part of my duties as the Ranger Captain here. I have to report to my king on all orcs who come to live here, and such reporting is easier and more accurate if I meet the orc in question. I do understand your frustration and fear and bear you no ill will for it, though. You are the first orc I have ever seen who admitted to still having some other will trying and failing to control you – and I'll admit I'm curious about that, but will save my questions. You are not, however, the first I have heard of who would rather avoid humans than attack them, or just as likely, be attacked by them. Back during the orc rights hearing a couple years ago, we were snowed under with reports from all over the kingdom, and many of them included reports of orcs who had starved themselves in the hills rather than continue to kill humans."

"It's not nearly as dire a situation for you as you fear, though. I have had, and forwarded, many reports about you and it was on the strength of those, especially from Nik, Gubbitch and Celebsul that I agreed to delay the meeting for a time and counseled patience to my superiors. Your list of champions is growing, too. Bob is fond of you and he hasn't stopped talking about or showing that knife you made him, nor about what you taught him, nor about what he saw and heard of your strength before either of those things happened. This situation," he gestured with his quill to her injured side as his mouth tilted ruefully, "was not the way either of us would have liked it to happen. I will go so far now to say that I hope I can earn your trust. You have risked your life for someone who's under my care – protest it as she does," he added with an amused twist of his lips, "-and that will not be forgotten. That is a less common choice among orcs even than starving themselves in the hills over attacking humans. Give us a little time and patience in return, Garlakh. Think back to your first few weeks and months in whatever tribe you served. Surely your old warlord didn't know from the start that he could trust you even with his life."

Garlakh watched his eyes for several long seconds and it seemed to her he had been as honest with her as she had just been with him. She gave a chagrined grimace at his gentle reminder and request for patience by way of apology and agreement, but his answer was a gentle smile.

"If I'm honest, Garlakh, I think I would be a bit frustrated in your position, too. What you describe is called honor or integrity. It's a rare enough quality even among men and those who live by it don't like it when it doesn't seem to be seen, nor do they like being in places where it doesn't exist. I feel sure if you had been able to make a choice during the war, you would never once have served Sauron because it must have been an almost unknown quality there. We do see it. I promise you we do. The hobbits, too, are sure you show it in the quality of your work. They thought so before you began engraving the Valacirca and are even more certain now."

She looked down, noticing her hands were starting to tremble a bit. She was suddenly glad for the twists she had worked into the handle of this mug. They weren't as well suited to her fingers as to the captain's, but they nonetheless helped her lift the mug and take another long drink. "I understand, I think."

There was a long silence in which some tension seemed to leech away. Then the questions returned to the business of the ambush. "Why didn't you tell Gubbitch?"

Her voice strengthened slightly with the addition of the water. "I figured they'd go away in a few days, what with how often you patrol the area, and they weren't the type to mess with a band of Gubbitch's size. They don't look like an easy mark. There's not much in those hills anyway to keep a bunch of jackals occupied. Had they shown any sign of lingering more than a day or two, though, I would have, and I think the news likely would have made its way to you through him. Come to think of it, captain, he wasn't even at the glen yesterday. I don't know why. Plus there wasn't time. By the time I figured out what I was going to do they were moving."

"And so…" he prompted her to continue her tale.

"I followed them down through the hills. When they saw the lads waiting for Sev at the glen they were shocked. They turned off north along the road and I lost sight of them since I was waiting for Sev, myself, but I had still the sense of danger nearby and was rather distracted. She didn't stay long, I remember, when she did arrive. That Rackler's a real piece of work, to be polite about it. She was already in a bad mood, they argued and she lost her temper and shut down the trading day early. I didn't approach her because of her mood. I don't know why she went north instead of south along the road, but apart from the decisions I'd made about what I wouldn't do about those bandits, I also made one of what I would do. I'd protect Sev, Gubbitch or any of his lads, you Rangers, or any travelers they tried to menace while they were in the area. I followed her, caught her up and got ahead so I could scout. The one with the star still got the drop on her, but that's the last laugh he got. Maybe the last laugh he'll ever get for all I know. You already know what happened from there. I never saw Lugbac, though I'd heard her ask him to accompany her. He must have been on the other side of her wagon. I didn't think she would be alone because she never has come out alone with her wagon that I've seen, but I knew Warg wasn't there because she was off with Titch looking for her pig."

Hal nodded and grimaced at mention of the pig as he wrote the last bit of Garlakh's account. He laid the quill aside and rose to approach her, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder as she finished the last of the mug of water. He could feel her trembling. She was plainly at the end of her strength and he repositioned the pillows so she could recline and maybe sleep soon. Her eyes fluttered shut and open as she struggled to stay awake. Yet he studied the orc on the bed as if she were an especially complex puzzle that defied the solving. There was one more question whose answer he felt he needed to understand now while she could still answer him.

"Why you? Why would you offer your life, particularly for us? I understand Sevilodorf or a traveler especially, or your band, but given your frustration with us – or rather me and those above me, and your fear, why?"

Garlakh considered that. "There's a few reasons, one as valid to me as the other. One is that I don't want any of you hurt. You have some quality – or no more than one that's … I don't know … I don't know the words … precious … to me. Something I need to find and understand and name, something a lot of people need, maybe … You stand for something right, if my old master wants you dead so badly, and I'd protect that… …" She gave a soft growl of frustration and swallowed her fumbling words.

"Another maybe is related. I'd rather die than one of you, if it's my choice and if it's my fate to die. I'm expendable. Sev isn't. She'd be missed. You'd be missed. Your pretty wife, Bob, the other one, they'd all be missed. Random travelers have people who care whether they live or die. Who'll miss an orc? Don't mistake me, Captain. I want to live a long time and learn a lot of things and maybe make my existence count for something I can be proud of more than just forging, but whether I die tomorrow or centuries from now, I want my life and my death to mean something worthwhile, something that the gods of the world – whoever they are – would approve. Something where maybe instead of getting sent into the void, I can stand before the One unashamed."

She was shocked, or would have been if she'd had the energy to spare for it. She could have sworn she saw water shimmering in the man's eyes before her own slammed shut with the force of a steel door. Nonetheless she heard his answer, though his voice was thick.

"You have a better grasp on those things you seek than you realize, Garlakh. Many who were born free can't answer me that eloquently. They've never known the other side of the coin. You have, though, and now you want more. I pray you have the time you need to learn it, and I promise I'll do my best to help you. Listen to me. No, actually, look at me.… Garlakh, you still with me?" His voice gained a concerned note when her eyes failed to open.

"Yes, barely."

"Listen close, then." His voice adopted a stern authoritative tone she knew well as a soldier. "I don't ever want to hear you call yourself expendable again. You aren't. You were given this chance for a reason. And I'll also tell you that more people than you think would miss you, should anything happen to you. Two of them are standing outside this door praying, I think. Another is in his workshop back at The Troll working on whatever has taken his fancy tonight. There's another pair in the bar who'll probably set at least one beer afire in their distraction. And then there's your host."

"Back at the Troll? My host?" Garlakh pried her eyes open with one last great effort of will and looked around the room. She'd never been in a tark inn so had no idea what she should be seeing. "This isn't the inn?"

"No." Hal chuckled. "You have the privilege of the hospitality of Master Russbeorn and his companion, Nik."

"This is Nik's house?"

"It's Nik's home. Sev said she told him to take you home, so he did."

Garlakh nodded. The thought of all these "people" willing to do so much for her was overwhelming. A wave of exhaustion swept over her and her eyes slammed shut again. She was drifting away.

"Can I trade your cup for my scarf, if it's not all bloody?" Her words were a sleepy slur and opening her eyes was out of the question. Halbarad laughed softly and sniffled. He was touched that she wanted it and would be sure to tell the hobbit ladies that it apparently comforted her. He took the cup and pressed the soft warm wool into her hands. Then he snugged the blankets carefully around her and patted her shoulder soothingly since she was accepting his touch.

"I'll let you sleep now. Thank you for answering me so honestly. When you wake, I'll need you to draw a map to their cave so we can check it and make absolutely certain there aren't any more men and collect whatever they've left behind."

Another faint nod was her only answer and he departed as she dropped back down a well of oblivion.


	13. Healing Comes in Many Guises

Chapter 13

Healing comes in many guises

January 19

Morning

Garlakh drifted slowly closer to consciousness. All seemed silent except for a mysterious rumbling that sounded like it might be in the same room with her. She would have been curious, but the next thought she had was that she was having trouble breathing. She realized she was almost flat in the bed and cursed to herself. Moving was going to be a torment when she gathered herself enough to do it.

The next thing she noticed was a warm puff of air next to her ear and a warmth near her face that had the smell of something with honey in it. "Garlakh?" came a hopeful whisper. She gave a vague grunt by way of response, but still her eyes remained shut as she tried to gather her thoughts. She still felt weak as a warg runt.

"Garl?" the whisper came again and she managed to pry her heavy eyes open. Nik was at her bedside, holding a fresh bowl of oatmeal in front of her nose. That was the source of the honey smell, then. Her stomach grumbled. How long had it been since she ate? Nik looked thoroughly pleased when she opened her eyes. He was fairly beaming, actually. Sitting up was as unpleasant as she thought it might be, and she swore in her native dialect as she tried to move, the single harsh syllable cracking through the air for all that it was softly spoken. The bowl of oatmeal disappeared, clunking onto a bedside table she hadn't noticed the night before, and Nik's arms came around her helping her up and plumping the pillows carefully behind her.

She looked around as she caught her breath. She was in what seemed to be a large single room hall. The source of the rumbling revealed itself as a simply huge man in a chair by the fire. She gaped at him and it wasn't hard to believe he could turn into a bear. Her first tribe had fought men of this size, likely enough this one's ancestors, and here she was now at the mercy of one of them. The world worked in very, very strange ways. At the moment, he was sound asleep and snoring like … well, like a bear, she supposed. Certainly he could outdo any of the orcs she'd ever met in a snoring contest. She wondered how she had managed to sleep so long with all that noise or whether he had only recently fallen asleep. Then another need made itself known. She needed the privy before she could even think of breakfast.

"Where's your latrine?" she asked Nik quietly. Nik helped her up, supporting her when she stumbled, still weak from blood loss, and they returned a few minutes later. The oatmeal was still warm enough to eat and she found she rather enjoyed it with the honey in it. Very good honey, Nik had promised when they were talking in the den once, and it was certainly that. It had to be the same stuff that was used in those most delicious cakes he'd left her.

As she ate she took a better look around the hall, setting aside the giant by the fireplace, who was interesting enough in his own right. The walls were made from logs carved with various beasts, some she knew and some she didn't. She grinned at the carving of the bear and orc by the hearth and wondered who had done all this work and how long this man had been here. It was something she felt she could make a study of for years and spoke to that part of her she'd never truly been able to indulge during the war. What was the word, beautiful? Yes…it was. Beautiful and intricate. Someone had spent a very long time carving all those logs just so. Her stomach grumbled again, pulling her out of her artistic musings. Nik was watching her take his home in silently, cataloging her every expression, for such interest could not be concealed from one who knew her as well as anyone alive did.

"Like it?"

"It's really nice. I could look at all these carvings for a long time. Right now I'm still hungry, though. Got any sausage?"

"No, I don't." Nik actually sounded a bit disappointed, as though he might like a link or two of it himself. "Teach doesn't eat meat, remember?"

She nodded, embarrassed. He had told her that and she'd flat forgotten.

"I've got this, though." And he pulled from a tray a couple of honey cakes and some kind of bread with nuts in it.

As she ate, Nik told her a bit of what was going on and what her next several days would be like, continuing to speak quietly as Russ slept.

"Firnelin's going to hunt for you. Mistress Sev says you need a lot of iron to help replace all the blood you lost. You'll have to drink a bunch of beef tea and eat liver and that kind of thing. I think she's going to have the hobbits cook it up."

Garl frowned slightly and glanced at Russ. Nik smiled slightly. "Don't worry, Teach understands the necessity and won't give you grief. He doesn't care if others eat meat as long as it's not from his own animals. He just prefers not to have it himself and he doesn't serve any except for fish."

She nodded, silent for several minutes after the meal was done. She'd had some of Sev's tea and a cup of that cold white liquid Nik said was called milk. She was still very thirsty and tired.

"Feel like I could sleep for a week."

Nik nodded. "Sev said you'd need a lot of that over the next few days. Go on. She'll be along around noon to check on your wounds and redress them. She's bringing some kind of ointment she says will make sure they don't fester. Hal wants to … oh that reminds me!"

Nik's voice had risen slightly with the exclamation as he thunked himself lightly on the forehead. The snoring stopped for a few seconds as Russ stirred in his chair, his face turning so Garl could see it, then it continued on. Nik, meanwhile, scurried off to a shelf and returned with a square bit of wood with a small hole in one corner and a drawer on the bottom. He sat a round brass container into the hole, then opened a vial of some black stuff and poured it into the thing in the hole. She had a vague memory of seeing the captain do something like this last time she'd been awake. Ah yes, the map to the cave, she remembered. He wanted one drawn. It was good Nik remembered because she'd nearly forgotten. She'd been on the edge of sleep when he'd said it. Well, this was going to be interesting.

"Sorry, Garl," he said apologetically. "Sleep will have to wait a bit. The captain left this so you could draw that map to the men's cave. Sev's going to take it with her when she leaves. Have you ever used these?"

Garlakh shook her head silently. She remembered the shaman who'd given himself to some weird spirit thing not long after she'd joined her tribe in Mirkwood. He was the only one she'd ever known who could use such things, though she didn't see him do it.

"The captain sharpened the quill for you. It's in the drawer here with a few others and some blank parchments. He says you dip the sharp point into the ink and draw the lines on the parchment, and you won't need to press hard, but you do need a steady hand."

She considered Nik's advice as she opened the drawer and looked at its contents. There were several white rolls and several quills. Good, because she suspected this was going to be harder than it sounded.

It definitely was. If she didn't twitch from the weakness that plagued her and blur the lines, she dipped too much ink and dribbled on the parchment, or pressed too hard and broke the nib, necessitating some self-teaching on quill sharpening with a small knife she'd found in the drawer that was apparently made for the purpose. She studied it briefly so she could make one. It was an occupational hazard that she was always looking for new ideas. Eventually, though, the map was finished and she napped for a bit before Sev was due to show.

Noon

"…Little enough as strangers go," a rumbling voice brought Garl from a sound sleep. "Nik says she spent most of the morning trying to do that map you wanted and had a good hardy breakfast. Whatever she did, she did it quietly." The voice lowered into an ominous-sounding growl. "I'm just glad she didn't spill the ink. It would never come out of the sheets."

There was a snort of laughter. "Thank you again for allowing her to stay with you," A woman's amused voice answered, but the tone sobered quickly. "Hal will be happy the map's done. He's more than anxious to see the end of this, and so am I."

Garlakh opened her eyes. Had that growl been directed at her, her instinct would have been to make sure she had her weapons, but the woman's reaction made her think the other person might have been at least partly jesting. She looked around silently. Giant Russ was standing by the fireplace talking to Sev, both of them turned so she could only see them in profile with little of their expressions. She kept still and silent as Sev set several pots and a basket on a positively enormous table.

"These are meals and broth for Garlakh for blood replenishment. I'll bring more tomorrow. These three are from the hobbits for everybody. I think they managed a fish stew, knowing it's the only meat you'll eat."

Russ nodded. "My thanks to them. Now I'll leave you to tend to her. If I'd known I'd have guests I'd have built another room, but this place is plenty big for Nik and me. I'll go fill up a few buckets of water. She might want a sponge bath at least. I would."

"Likely enough," Sev answered with a glance toward the bed.

Russ turned for the door, noticing as he did that Garlakh was awake and alert. He gave her a subtle nod and wink, then picked up several buckets and jugs from beside the door and headed out, a blast of chill air making its way in around his massive form.

Sev immediately gathered a small pot of something , some bandages and wrapping and turned with the bundle to find Garlakh watching her with interest, if not comprehension.

"Ah, good, you're awake. How are you feeling?" Sev asked briskly, though the look in her eyes showed what the orc took to be genuine concern and interest.

Garlakh blinked. This might be the first time someone had shown such care. Among orcs, a poultice, always foul smelling, was slapped on any wound and you were told to get back to work. "Constantly sleepy and weak as a newborn runt warg. The pain is about what would be expected. At least, no worse than the last time I had broken ribs."

Sev approached and brushed a hand across Garlakh's forehead. She nodded at what she felt, then she helped the orc undress. With a gentleness never before felt by Garlakh, the Rohirrim woman unwound the wrappings to check the wound and slather on ointment.

"Could tell by the knots that this wasn't your first episode of broken ribs. You'll likely be weak and weary for several days yet, I'm afraid. You lost a great amount of blood. He had something on the spear that made it bleed even more than such wounds usually do. It took me a long time to get it stopped completely. This ointment here will help make sure the wound doesn't get infected," she explained as the herbal smell filled the air. Garlakh gave a vague grunt as she handled the pain of having her wound probed and tended. Sevilodorf appeared surprised that a faint grunt was all she got for the pain she was inflicting.

The door opened and the buckets and jugs reappeared, though Russ himself did not enter. He simply sat them on the floor and shut the door again. There were several minutes of silence while Sev tended the wound, then started warming a pot of water. Garlakh watched her, certain the woman had something weighing on her mind, or perhaps more than one something. She didn't dare ask, though.

"How about a bath?" Sev asked as she came over with a sponge and some sort of herbal soap.

"Feeling a bit grimy, yes," Garlakh admitted. Soon enough Sev learned Garlakh was not the least self-conscious about being nude before a virtual stranger. "Happened all the time. There's no privacy at all in an orc warren," she said casually, and washed herself carefully, only asking for Sev's help when she couldn't reach a spot because of the pain of her broken ribs. Then after that came what Sevilodorf called a "medicinal lunch" and a list of instructions and directions.

January 20, 1424 S.R.

Warg lay in the sun munching contently on what remained of a haggis and gnawing upon the mysterious happenings at the inn. Since her return with Smokey, Warg had noticed Sev was avoiding her. Furthermore, though the woman claimed to be in her workroom, she wasn't on the Inn's grounds at all. Warg had gathered the Rangers were upset with Sev. A not uncommon occurrence, but not one usually so shrouded in secrecy. Warg would have to ask the hobbits some questions in a few minutes, but not until she finished this fine haggis.

Meanwhile, she'd just eavesdrop on Bob and Halbarad who were in the sparring ring behind the barn. It was an odd human custom, she thought as they fought one another and talked. Wargs didn't practice killing. They just did it, starting with rabbits when they were pups. Then again, humans didn't often do it with their bare hands and needed false fangs. Maybe it wasn't so surprising they had to work on using them well even when they weren't pups –er- children.

"They didn't waste any time in hanging him."

Warg's ears perked up at Hal's words. Who'd they hang? Had she missed something important while hunting for Smokey?

"He didn't even try to deny what he'd done, not that it would have done much good with the rest of the reports. Plus the fact he was wearing a Ranger's star he clearly had no right to wear."

Bob grunted and nodded grimly as he took a strike to the leg and continued on.

"What I didn't know," Hal ducked as Bob aimed a slash at his head, "is the whole band had a price on their heads, dead or alive. More for alive, so that will be double for the leader. Garlakh stands to gain some serious coin, though there's rather a stir about the fact that it was an orc who did the deed. Sev already has the part of the coin from the two she killed."

"Morling isn't happy about it," Bob agreed. "He is still having trouble with the fact that we have some relatively tame ones around here. He's sure they're going to turn on us sooner rather than later."

"It caused a bit of consternation at the Henneth Annûn garrison, too," Hal added. "It was simply luck that the messenger caught Faramir at the Crossroads. His appearance cut through the legalities of the situation quickly enough. He put the coin in my hands himself, though, and also asked for a goblet something like my mug when I showed it to him. He called it 'spiritually eloquent' when he found out that an orc had made it."

Bob grunted in vague agreement and landed a blow on Halbarad, knocking the wooden sword from his grip. Hal yelled and tackled Bob's legs. Bob landed with a thud, then pulled Hal down to the ground beside him. The pair wrestled about until both lay gasping for air.

Rolling her eyes at the foolish ways of Men, Warg thought over what she'd learned. Sev was known for getting herself, and those around her, into trouble. Had she done that with Garlakh? It sounded as if things had turned out for the best if she had. Garlakh would have some of those metal bits that Men used to buy things. And it seemed that she could make things other than weapons. Why everyone was so happy about that, Warg could not understand. A good knife to replace their stubby teeth and lack of claws made more sense to her. Though, there was something to be said about pans for baking.

Finishing the last of the haggis, she licked her paws and decided that tomorrow she'd take Smokey and visit Nik. He'd know everything that was going on.

January 21, 1424 S.R.

Garlakh hissed at the pain slicing through her side and lowered herself gently onto the chair. With disgust, she eyed the boots tucked against the wall. She would never be able to pull them on without howling. And that would bring Nik, Lugbac or even worse, Russbeorn, running to see what was wrong. If she was asked one more time if anyone could do anything for her, she'd... Well, she didn't know what she'd do, but she was decidedly tired of all the attention. Not that she didn't appreciate the care. She'd never eaten better in her life, or been cleaner.

She drew a strand of hair toward her nose. Who knew that hair could be made to smell like flowers? She snorted a laugh. Who knew that she'd like her hair to smell like flowers? Or that she'd like to sleep on a … what had Nik called it... mattress …. and one stuffed with goose feathers at that. Idly, she wondered how long it would take to collect enough feathers to make her own mattress.

Movement caught her eye, and she turned to peer out the window. From behind a large shed, Warg appeared. Between her teeth, she held a leather leash attached to a pig. A pig with a bright red bow about its neck. Behind this incongruous pair came Lugbac carrying a large sack from which grain dribbled through a small hole. Behind the orc followed a parade of chickens intent upon clearing up the mess.

"What are you doing out of bed?" The stern voice caused Garlakh to jerk about with a gasp.

One hand clutching her side, Garlakh hissed, "Trying to put on my boots."

From his impressive height of nine feet, Russbeorn stared down at her. His legs were as sturdy as tree trunks and his powerful arms were long, thick and heavily muscled from years of hard labor. His great chest was as broad as the wide doorway and everywhere that was not encased in grey wool or sturdy leather was covered with thick brown hair. His eyes, hickory brown with faint specks of green, gleamed at her from beneath thick brows.

"Tired of sitting about?"

"Yes," replied Garlakh forcefully. "Though I'm grateful for all your ..."

Russbeorn waved aside her words with a hand as large as her head. "You are Nik's friend. This is his home."

"Yes, but …."

Again Russ stopped her, this time with a low growl. "There is no but."

A pig's squeal and the squawking of chickens drew the attention of both the orc and the Beorning to the window. In one step, Russ moved to the window to look out with a furrowed brow.

"What foolishness is this?"

In the farmyard, Lugbac now lay on his back. The chickens busily pecking at the grain speckling his clothing. The pig, its bow askew and fluttering in the breeze, sat upon the grain sack, snout lifted and squealing. Warg sat nearby with a proud wolfish grin and her paw firmly upon the end of the leather leash.

"I would say Warg has found her pig," Garlakh said.

"A warg with a pet pig. What will be next?" Russ laughed, a great thunderous rumbling.

"Patients who follow directions would be my wish." Though a frown accompanied the words, Sev's voice held a hint of amusement. She placed a cloth covered basket on the bed and pulled the knit cap from her head, then smiled her thanks as the Beorning helped her to remove her cloak. "Good morning, Russbeorn."

"Your patient is not so patient," said Russbeorn, with a nod toward Garlakh. "She reminds me of you."

Sevilodorf's cheeks reddened. "One of my many faults, and something we will both need to work on. Ribs take time to heal. At least a month."

"You said I could get up today," Garlakh said stubbornly. A month! She'd be insane if she had to lie in bed for a month.

"So I did," Sev said, briskly. "And if Russ will excuse us for a few minutes, I'll check your wound and then you can move to the porch."

Russ nodded and mumbled something about cream cakes as he departed and closed the door.

"It's healing, but..." Sevilodorf trailed a finger along the stitches she'd used to close the wound. Then dabbed the area with an aromatic unguent

"But?" Garlakh twisted her neck to see her side. Tark healing was so different from orc medicine that she had no way to compare.

Sev sighed and wiped her fingers clean. "I'll be honest. For all the stitching and patching I've done with Gubbitch's lads these past few years, I don't know everything I'd like about treating orcs.

Garlakh snorted a laugh, then clutched her side. "You've done more than an orc would have. All the washing and cleaning and careful stitching. There won't hardly be a scar for me to brag about."

"Sorry about that," Sev laughed, then picked up the wide bandages to wrap Garlakh's ribs. "It's just that even for as deep as it was, it was hard to stop the bleeding. The blade might have been coated with something."

"Poison," Garlakh said, holding her arms out so the woman could wrap the bandages tightly about her torso. The strapping did make it easier to breathe, though definitely not so easy to bend. "Might have been. It's a common enough trick. Especially among those they call the Wolves."

Sev jerked the bandages drawing a hiss from the orc. Immediately, the woman apologized and finished the task without another word. Garlakh shrugged into the wrap around tunic that had replaced the shirt destroyed in the fight and watched the woman chew on her lip. What had she said? Then the pieces dropped into place.

"Your man. The one that's missing. He went north."

"Yes," Sev replied simply, then turned away to fumble with the contents of her basket.

"Is that why you were going north?"

"No. Not then." Sev sank onto the bed. Her shoulders sagging. "I owe you an explanation for that day. I owe you more than an explanation, but..." Sev straightened and met Garlakh's eyes directly. "I'd had an argument with Hal that morning. He'd refused again to let me go north. He said it was too dangerous."

Sev shook her head and gave a mirthless grunt of laughter. "Danger. I lived through the burning of the Westfold. I was at Helm's Deep. My son lies in a barrow before the remains of the wall. I traveled the Eastfold and the lengths of Anorien alone after the war. I've fought and killed orcs and men. Yet, suddenly, I am incapable of choosing my own path."

Sev went silent for a moment, then continued, "Anardil is not dead. I know it. But I am no fool. I will not simply rush off into the wild unprepared. And I certainly wouldn't take Lugbac with me."

"Wouldn't be my first choice of companion in the wild," said Garlakh carefully. Then nodded out the window where Lugbac sat with a chicken in his lap and Smokey under his arm.

Sev leaned forward to see, then sat back. "Exactly my point. Yet, Hal thinks I would and I was."

"But you weren't leaving to find him?"

"No. Kasweld, a cousin of sorts, is in charge of trading with the dwarves of the Ash Mountains. He was due back that day and I went north to meet him. I..." Sev stopped. "That's all I meant to do."

"That day," Garlakh said quietly and Sev's head came up. For a long moment they simply stared at each other then Sev nodded.

"I'm going. I need to make more preparations, but I'm going, and no one will stop me. Keep that to yourself, though, or everyone will surely try even harder to stop me than they are now."

Garlakh studied the tark woman. Compared to an orc, she was weak, but she'd shown her mettle in the battle with the brigands. She wondered what it was like to care for someone enough that you would defy everyone who cared for you in turn to go after them. It had to be a powerful feeling and it was one she hoped to feel some day. Garlakh decided this Anardil must be a man who knew full well those things she was still trying to grasp to win that devotion from an independent sort like Sev and vowed silently to help her.

"You'll need a new knife or two." Garlakh said. "Let me see your hands."

Sevilodorf's expression was priceless as she held them out for inspection, as if she had expected to meet more resistance or even indifference rather than an apparent ally. After examining the hands and finding out what kinds of knives the woman preferred, the conversation continued.

"So this … Kasweld? Did you ever meet with him?"

Sev grimaced to herself and nodded. "He arrived at the Troll the evening of our little to do on the road. Escorted by Elanna and Morling, who without a doubt enjoyed telling the tale. Sent his wagon on toward Henneth Annûn the next morning and waited for me to show up at the Troll. Despite being my junior by nearly a decade, he dared try to lecture me about going off with only an orc for company. Lugbac and I are both getting fussed out from all sides. Anyway, I sent Kasweld off to Minas Tirith with a bug in his ear, though he told the whole sordid tale to …. never mind... Middle Earth is filled with men trying to tell me what to do."

With a glance toward the window, Sev lowered her voice, "I've made arrangements for Kasweld to take over for me with Gubbitch's lads. It won't be as convenient for them as his schedule will not be as set as mine, but I gave the excuse that I need to focus more on gathering herbs and such. You should have seen how they all but fell over themselves to approve. Anything to keep me from the road north." The woman rolled her eyes. "I'll take him to the glen when he comes north again in a few weeks and introduce him. You'll get to meet him even if I have to bring him here."

Garlakh nodded. That would surely be an interesting encounter, but her mind had been wandering a bit. She knew a bit about Rhûn, having fought beside its men, now perhaps against them, and also having physically been within its borders. "How much do you know about Rhûn? Have you been there? Do you know its people? Where will you look?"

"Very little," Sev admitted reluctantly, "The plains along the edges of the Ash Mountains are as far north as I've gone. Halbarad's taken to hiding the maps."

Mentally, Garlakh gathered all the information she had about Rhûn, its geography and its people, and began to give it to the Rohirrim trader.

January 24, 1424 S.R.

Garlakh woke surprisingly gently from the usual nightmare as the smells of the lodge filled her nostrils: a hint of orc, a mixture of bear and man and the almost overwhelming smell of animals, all under laid with a woody scent from the building itself and the smell of the fire and last night's stew. Yet something was different. She was in a different position than usual and she seemed to be moving gently from side to side. There was a deep humming vibrating against her side. The vibration was actually rather pleasant. She also noticed that she was warmer than usual. She shifted slightly and something else shifted, too, carefully keeping her from falling. She looked up to discover that she was in the arms of Russbeorn. She was surprised to find this didn't trouble her. His embrace was actually rather nice.

"Since when do orcs have nightmares?"

"In my case since I made the mistake of entering Mordor. I'd never seen it and wanted to know what it was like. Ashes and dust and echoes of things best not found. It's all ruined. Do yourself a favor and don't go there."

A rumbling laugh was his answer. "I won't. Since we're both awake how about I give you something to keep your hands occupied? You keep saying you want to make yourself useful so let's get to it."

Garlakh looked around and saw through a window that it was well into the night. She must have woken Russ from his own sleep, but when she tried to apologize he shook his head.

"I know you didn't do it on purpose. I'll catch up once you're busy. If I'm right in my thinking, you won't sleep again tonight. Nightmares like that one don't lend themselves to quick forgetting."

"Especially not when it's always the same one. I usually get up and forge." Garlakh said in agreement, but she didn't want to trouble him with the contents of the dream. "Where's Nik?"

"Running with Warg. He said he'd be back in the morning. Now, I've no forge, but I do have this."

He helped her to stand and led her to his table, then introduced her to her task. A very large pair of trousers with a sizable rip in them. She quickly discovered that stitching cloth and leather were a little different. Russ gave her some tips until things were proceeding to his gruff satisfaction. Then he left her working and retired to the curtained alcove holding his bed. Soon, his rumbling snores filled the late night.

She was glad to stick her hands inside the thick wool and try to mend it. While Russ and Nik would protest, she felt she had to earn her keep.

"You already paid," was Nik's quiet but firm answer when she had asked what she could do to repay the kindness of him and his Teach. She'd nearly slipped and used the term master, and noticed that Nik occasionally slipped up too.

"All right, then," she yielded, having neither the strength nor the will to argue with the determination in his eyes. "It still remains, though, that if I don't find something to do with myself while I recover I'm going to be gnawing on these pretty walls. Last time I had broken ribs I was up and forging again in a week, whether it was wise or not. You know how it was with us. Weakness wasn't allowed. If you could move, you were expected to work."

Nik nodded understandingly. "I do know. It's not like that now. I'll ask Teach for some ideas tomorrow, though." And that had been that. Garlakh had fallen asleep content with the knowledge she would soon be more than a bedridden lump. As usual, though, her old master had intruded.

She smiled slightly now to herself as she listened to Russ's snores and mended the torn trousers with small, neat stitches. She decided the first snores she'd noticed had been light ones for him and that he could have beaten her entire tribe in a snoring contest all at once. It was a wonder to her it didn't give her a headache.

Thus the pattern of her days was set. Russ or Nik would find something she could do without jostling her abused ribs and Garlakh knew herself to be content. She was not made for lolling around with nothing to do and appreciated being able to aid them, whether it was considered earning her keep or just keeping herself busy so she could stay sane.


	14. Acceptance

Chapter 14

Acceptance

February 12, 1424 S.R.

Noon

" _You will serve me, or you will die now while your friends watch. I will have no more of your insolence!_ " Garlakh was dreaming and it had gone on longer than it should have. Try though she might, she could not wake. She could hear someone calling her with increasing desperation, but the world was breathlessness and pain and she recognized not the voice, nor the feel of the soft mattress beneath her. She knew what was happening well enough to know that her old master would have her loyalty or her life. There was no other way, as far as he was concerned. She knew she would not give her loyalty.

"I am not yours!" she snarled soundlessly. "I will never again be yours!"

"What's going on?" came a deep, perturbed growl.

"She's not breathing, Teach!"

"Heart still beating? Touch the side of her neck."

"Yes!"

"Remember what I taught you on how to help someone who was drowning," came the growl again. "Sheer luck I didn't have to do it to you when I pulled you out of the Isen."

Suddenly there was a whoosh in her ears like a bellows, then another. Someone's lips were hard and insistent on hers, but she wasn't in a condition to care. The frantic voice and the growl faded as she was distracted by something else.

There were two lights approaching her, one a shimmering white, the other a sullen red like a low-burning fire. Was she dying?

"I certainly hope not," said a male voice inside the red aura. It was familiar, pitched low so as not to frighten her, the low rumble under a snapping flame.

"In the end," said a male voice encased in the white aura, "it is up to you." The voice was also vaguely familiar in the sense that hearing one sound can bring on a memory of another, but it was not the one who had been guiding her.

"You know your old master intends to have your loyalty or your life, though given all you have done to thwart him lately he might be happier with the second. I have come because it is time for you to choose for good and all, formally. I am Olorin in the west, better known in your world as Gandalf or Mithrandir. Never did I dream of seeing such a one as stands before me now. I could not have come had you not repeatedly called to the one who is above all others for aid, and had many others petition on your behalf."

There was a silence. Only vaguely could she feel her body going up and down as someone continued to breathe for her. In this place where time had no meaning, it might have been days, but in the world outside it was only a matter of seconds. She turned to the red aura.

"Is that you, Raug?"

A sense of confirmation flowed to her from the red aura, though he did not speak.

"I wish I knew something else to call you."

"If I ever remember my name from before I was turned to serving the shadow," came his answer, "I hope I have the chance to give you that. I felt your desire not to call me any kind of demon, but for now I am yet reckoned among the evil beings of the world for all I am trying hard to make amends for my errors. Trust Olorin, Garlakh. He was ever among the wisest and most compassionate of the maiar. His humility was the saving of him many times, and that includes the not so distant pass as you would reckon it. You remember what I told you?"

"Parts of it. Honestly a lot of it went over my head. I'm sorry, Raug. Try again some time."

"Fair enough," he rumbled, and there was a hint of warmth and amusement that brightened the red. "It's a lot to take in all at once. He is a servant of the powers, the gods of the world as I have heard you call them when I use my limited power to watch what's going on through fires. He is what I should have been had I remained true to the themes Atar gave. He has come to aid you. That will, I think, suffice for now."

She looked to the white figure. "What must I do? I want, no, need to be free of him if I am to live my own life. Right now, all I know is that whatever he wants from me, I ought to do the opposite, but I am crippled by fear that I might harm someone if I slip just once, and pain when I resist him. I may never sail west with the elves, but if I can do enough good in my life to counterbalance all the wrong and stand before the world's creator when I die, I will be content. I do not want to go to the void that supposedly awaits orcs."

The white figure shimmered with incandescent joy as the choice was made yet again. "That's not a bad place to start. You've done well, but you need help to break completely free. Right now, he will kill you and gladly because he knows you won't give him your loyalty. You must trust me completely. Open yourself to me, completely. Shield nothing from me, for in that shielding he will keep a strong hook in you. I can only do this because it is Atar's will, but it will take your willing cooperation."

She nodded, not without apprehension. She didn't know how to do that, but if it was what was required she would try. She looked to Raug again. "What is your part in this?"

"I was the guide and one of the petitioners. I can be of no real aid as my own … er… spiritual health is too precarious. I am here to support your efforts." She noticed that the red had paled to a miserable, disconsolate grey.

"That will be enough," she tried to comfort him. "I think the effort must count for something with the ones who judge such things." She saw him brighten a bit in response.

A shimmer drew her eyes back to Gandalf and she could have sworn he was smiling at her. She felt his approval of her words and he spoke to Raug in a language she did not know, which caused the red to brighten further. Then he spoke to her. "Come. Relax and trust me. You are correct. Raug will be the anchor for you, as he is your friend. That is not exactly having no part in the healing."

She stood between them now, one hand reaching into the red aura and the other in the white. She could feel both spirits now. One burned dark, though streaks of light were within it and were growing more numerous. The other was almost blinding in its brightness, unspeakably, heartrendingly beautiful and somehow … clean. For a moment he revealed himself to her as he had appeared recently in the world, an old man in white robes leaning on a staff. She laid herself bare to the white one as best she knew how, showing him everything she could remember of her life and everything she felt now she was free to feel emotions not driven by some other will. He somehow brought forward things she thought she had forgotten. Raug was a crackling campfire nearby, but she could feel his hesitation to reach out. Something passed between him and the white and then she felt him; he was working hard to control himself. She felt the discord within him, but also felt that the light was slowly winning and driving away the dark. She took what she could from both spirits and tried to give in return, showing Raug just how much she had valued their time together and the good night's sleep he'd managed to provide her. Both spirits brightened at that memory, but then they got down to the business of finding and removing her nemesis as best they could. It was a different kind of pain than her master inflicted on her. It felt like being scrubbed from the inside.

"A form of forging, perhaps," Gandalf sent. "You are being reshaped, though you are and shall always remain an orc." There was a sense of profound sadness with those words and she wondered if maybe he had seen the first orcs and knew something of the manner of their twisting. "Yes." He answered her unspoken question. "Many things have I seen I wish I hadn't. My life has never been without joy, though, nor without the knowledge that it would all be as Iluvatar willed in the end. I did not expect to see such a profound manifestation of it so soon."

In the outside world someone took a few more breaths for her and she thought she felt something wet on her face. She noticed the pain beginning to fade. Then it was gone and she felt her body gasp and begin to breathe on its own.

The feeling had gone from a scrubbing to a feeling like a sluicing of cool, pure, blessed water. "There, you are free of him, or as free as you can be. You must keep alert. He and his master are subtle. All beings of reason must be wary as well, lest they fall. You doubly so, but your soul is your own. It was before, but now he has no more of a hook in you than anyone else in the world. You did well in resisting him and you must continue to do so. I thank you for your trust. You will never engage in a more intimate act in your life than what we just did together. It could not have been easy for you."

She shook her head. Her soul had longed to curl up in a ball, and she had needed to expend conscious effort to stay flat and open. "How will I know this is real And not just a dream? And how can I thank you, assuming that it is real?"

There was a brightening in the white aura and the feeling of an embrace that was the most comforting she had ever felt. For the first time in her life she knew what it felt like to be valued just for existing, not what she could do. Raug had given her a taste of it, but this was even more intense and comforting. She was loved and she knew it. A single tear trickled down her cheek and those in the outside world wondered at its cause, but all she could do was send her thanks to the white figure still embracing her. He released her too soon. "Hold to your path, Garlakh." The voice was less powerful now, gentle and comforting and encouraging all at once. "That will be thanks enough."

Raug spoke. "As for proving this is real, I am very much awake. When you return to your den, you will find a new pottery mug with a painting of Gandalf on one side and one of an eagle on the other. If not before then, you will know by that because I will deliberately not tell you of it in waking life."

"Thank you both," she said. Both the red and white auras brightened in smiles, then shimmered and were gone.

"Garlakh! Garl – please!" Someone was shaking her. She opened her eyes with a snap, causing Nik to step back with a squawk, then he stepped forward again and crushed her in a bear hug, causing her still healing ribs to scream in protest. She hissed in pain and he loosened his grip to something tolerable, but didn't release her.

"I'm so sorry – you scared me – Are you all right – don't you ever do that to me again! What happened?" Admonishment, apology and question all came out in a rush. Russ gave a gruff snort at Nik's outburst, but she thought he looked concerned, too.

"The nightmare multiplied by a hundred. He decided he'd have my loyalty or my life, and I wouldn't give him my loyalty. He would have had my life, but I got some – er – help. Raug and someone called Gandalf."

Nik and Russ both looked startled, but seemed to know of whom she was speaking.

February 24, 1424 S.R.

Garlakh had been pronounced healed for nearly a week and left Russ's care without having made a pig's tail of herself. When she'd last seen Nik a couple days ago, he teased her that Russ was already missing the extra hands around the house, before laughing and saying that actually Russ was just catching up on his sleep at the moment, but had left word in his gruff way that she could visit whenever she liked. On returning to her den, the mug that Raug had promised was sitting right squarely in the middle of her pallet, as if he wanted her to see it before she saw anything else. It had become the only container from which she drank.

Now she was standing with the other orcs, whose greeting had been raucously cheerful, except for Lugbac, who had given her an abject apology for his failure to aid her. She hadn't held it against him and was even more shocked by that apology than she had been back when Bob had done it all those weeks ago. She had never seen an orc apologize in quite that way. It wasn't a fawning apology in hopes of gaining something. He was just an orc who felt he'd screwed up and wanted to make amends. She gave him the absolution he clearly craved as graciously as she knew how and his broken-toothed grin was as bright as the sun that beamed down from above, or the little yellow flowers that were beginning to open in the grass at his feet.

She lifted the small bag she had brought as the rumble of Sevilodorf's wagon echoed off the surrounding hills and joined the cluster of orcs. As was her norm, she tried to hide in the back, but the others kept pushing and nudging her to the front until she was just behind Gubbitch, Titch and Jabot. Even Rackler helped, one sturdy-handed thrust knocked over three rows of smaller orcs as he shoved her forward with a leering grin.

Trailing Sevilodorf was a second, larger wagon. Its team of matched bays handled by a golden haired man with clear blue eyes who surveyed the gathering of orcs with a calculating gaze. At his side, a grey-bearded dwarf sat with folded arms and a stubborn sneer upon his face.

Something about the man looked familiar, but watching him jump down from his seat and move quickly to assist Sevilodorf left her with no certainty she had ever met him. Until recently, all tarks looked much the same to her.

On the other hand, she was certain she'd never met the dwarf before. From the looks of him he didn't want to meet her or any others of her kind. All around her, Gubbitch's lads were beginning to mutter. The dwarf's animosity would quickly become a problem. Garlakh began to inch to the edge of the crowd so she'd have more room to maneuver when the melee began. But she hadn't reckoned on Gubbitch.

With a stern look that made even Rackler step back, Gubbitch called his band to order. Drawing himself up to his full height, nearly a foot shorter than the man at Sev's side, Gubbitch nodded to the trader-woman, then faced the man directly, "Met yer before ah have. At tha Troll."

"Yes," replied the man with a solemn smile. "You beat, nay, destroyed me at a game of Evens."

"Aye, that ah did," Gubbitch said with a wide sharp-toothed grin. "Took yer for a silver penny."

"A loof and his money are soon parted," muttered Sevilodorf and the surrounding orcs visibly relaxed. Some even gave small hoots of laughter.

"Now, madam, you'll give them the wrong impression of me," the man chided.

"Nay, kinsman," Sev said, and laid a hand upon his arm before turning to address the group as a whole. "Allow me to make known to all, my kinsman, Kasweld. For the past two years you've no doubt seen his wagon traveling back and forth on the road. He is an honest trader and will deal fairly with you while I do some herb gathering. Though I will warn him not to play any games of chance with you, he probably won't listen."

Garlakh saw Rackler nudge Martoc with such force the smaller orc nearly fell over. Sev had noticed too and directed a stern look in their direction. "No betting until you've taught him the rules. After that," Sev patted Kasweld's arm and shrugged, "he's on his own."

"You lot treat 'im reet or no tradin' fer yer," added Gubbitch.

"Wot aboot that one?" asked Muggins, pointing at the dwarf who steadfastly ignored all that went on around him.

"Ah, now there's a tale," said Kasweld motioning the orcs closer and lowering his voice. "Mastersmith Malin travels by orders of Grôr, Masterminer of the Ash Mountains."

"Don't look much like he wants to," said Titch, stretching his neck to see around Jabot's bristly crop of hair.

"Indeed he doesn't, but he is on a quest which he could not refuse."

"A quest? Wha's that?" Muggins demanded.

"Means his chief told 'im to find sumthin' and 'e can't go back 'til he does," said Gubbitch slapping the back of Muggins' head.

"Never?" asked Lugbac.

"Not unless he fulfills his quest," answered Kasweld seriously.

"Wot's 'e got to fill it up wit'?" Muggins asked. "We got wine and beer, and there's some o' that green stuff Sev makes us drink."

Kasweld looked confused for a moment, then shook his head. "He's searching for a person. A person with a special talent."

"Wot's talent?" asked Lugbac.

"Sumthin' ya ain't got, that's fer shure," said Jabot.

"Well, I ain't wantin' none if'n he's tha one looking for it," said Lugbac. "He don't look too friendly."

Almost as one the orcs nodded in agreement. Then Rackler grumbled, "We tradin' today o' nowt. I gots three rabbit skins and sum o' them rocks. Red striped ones." The massive orc turned to direct a glare at Sev who stared back impassively. "Jest like tha jeweler wants."

"Is that so?" Kasweld asked. After getting a subtle nod from Sev, he went on, "We are most certainly trading today, gentleman. Right this way and let me show you a special treat I brought all the way from the Sea of Rhûn. Pickled smelt."

As Kasweld let his enthralled customers to the rear of his wagon, Garlakn made her way to Sevilodorf. "No trade goods from me today," she said in a discrete voice, and passed the woman a lumpy bag. "Doing those three up right took all week."

Sevilodorf opened the bag and pulled out two slender sheaths each embossed with her family crest. She pulled out the knives and saw each one had been properly marked in Garlakh's adopted fashion and each fit perfectly into her hands as if they were an extension rather than a separate piece. She looked touched and amazed at the care that had clearly been put into the craftsmanship as she removed her old knives and buckled the new ones under her sleeves instead.

"Three?" She muttered to herself, digging into the bag, which was still hanging heavily from her hand. Out came a pair of boots; supple and soft and made for walking, they had a sheen about them that suggested they had been waterproofed. They, too, the woman noticed, had sheaths, but clearly Garlakh hadn't had time to make knives to put into them. She put her old ones in.

"Thank you. I'm even deeper in your debt now." She whispered thickly, ducking her head so her facial expression couldn't be seen by any but Garlakh and perhaps Kasweld, who wasn't able to hear her words. She swallowed, then she lifted her head and started talking more normally for the others to hear about how she'd been needing a new pair of boots anyway and she'd be more comfortable when gathering her herbs.

Late March 1424 S.R.

Dusk

Kasweld had proven to be of the same sturdy, reliable type as Sev. Garl decided she liked him and even when Sev returned, she might like to keep in touch even if the dwarves didn't need anything from her, being smiths enough themselves to make her long to learn from them though Malin was a grumpy fellow. She'd been trading small leather items with Kasweld; still paying off her debt to Gubbitch and his lads was taking up her time at the forge. Malin had given a dubious snort when she mentioned she was actually a smith by trade and could do anything from swords to mail to spoons.

"Like an orc knows anything about proper smithing!" he had sneered. She stared at him silently a long moment as Kasweld shifted his posture slightly, then decided the dwarf's insult wasn't worth her anger. She'd show him when she was done with Gubbitch's tools, which she thought would take several more weeks. Today, though, she had to set aside thoughts of trading and learning

"She what?"

"Gone to Minas Tirith." That was Warg, and she clearly wasn't happy. "I'm sure it's just another way to go haring off after her loverboy, but from what I've heard the Rangers saying, she'll get no support from the king."

Garlakh's expression must have given her away. Perhaps she didn't look surprised enough, for Nik suddenly groaned.

"You knew," he said. "You knew she wanted to go – was going to go, in fact."

"I knew." Garlakh admitted. "Just not when. I knew I couldn't stop her, so I tried to make sure she had what she needed."

"No wonder she likes you," Warg grumbled. "You ought to have been born pack except for your different bloodlines. Stubborn to the core, both of you."

There was a companionable silence. Warg had to admit she couldn't be too upset with Garlakh. Stopping Sev was like stopping a river with one claw and she knew it. So did the Rangers if they would admit it. At least Sev had a packmate who was able to provide her a few useful things. It was she who spoke again. "Want to come on a jaunt with me and Nik?"

Garlakh blinked out of her distracted thoughts and yes, a prayer or two for Sev's safety. "Excuse me?"

"You, me, Nik, explore." Warg grinned. "You are pack. Want to come?"

Garlakh goggled at Warg a moment while Nik just grinned and nodded encouragingly. Something warm rose inside her, filling her. "Sounds good. I've got some time."

She couldn't ride, but they kept to a pace she could handle without too much difficulty even with just getting back into proper shape after her injury. As the moon rose they all plopped down atop a hill by mutual unspoken agreement. After Warg finished serenading the rising moon, there was another companionable silence.

"Hal wants to see you." This time it was Nik.

"He won't be too happy with me." Garlakh answered, giving a sigh.

"Probably not, at least officially. It's not about that, though. It's about those bandits you killed for Sev a few months back."

She cast Nik a questioning look. "I think it would be better for the Captain to be the one to discuss that with you, Garl," Nik said. "Do you suppose you can handle the Troll yet?"

"One way to find out."

April 5, 1424 S.R.

Dusk

Warg's chuffing laughter was clearly audible as Garlakh froze at the gate, fiddling with her scarf. It was almost too warm for it, but she liked it. What seemed like half of Ithilien was in the yard. There was a whole crowd of elves, another of dwarves, the lady ranger and a little half-sized fellow even shorter than the dwarves, though less stocky.

"Come on. They won't bite," Warg teased.

The crowd was only half the shock, though. Garlakh watched the Rangers and Nik watched her. She was expecting to hear commands to kill the tarks and feel pain for refusing, but there was nothing of the kind. Across the yard, her gaze locked briefly with the lady Ranger's, and the woman brushed back her hair. There was a streak of clay on her hand.

Garlakh drew a deep breath, relished the ability to do so, then stepped into the yard just as she felt Nik's hand brush against the back of her leather hauberk, for she'd not had time to redo a mail one yet. Firnelin caught her eye and winked. Celebsul gave her a solemn nod, though there was something deeply joyful in his eyes.

The rest of the elves and dwarves paid her no mind, but the same could not be said for the little fellow.

"Oooh, you have to be Garlakh. I'm Milo. Welcome! I wonder who won the pot on when you'd turn up? Camellia, Meri and Erin will insist on meeting you when the captain's done. Go upstairs and we'll find you some dinner. There's still some stew in the kitchen I'm sure."

Garlakh blinked at this spate of words. How did she get from greetings to more meetings to gambling to food, and all without saying a word? Yet she followed Warg up the stairs while Nik went to talk to Celebsul about something.

Upstairs before the Rangers' room

Garlakh stood in the relative silence of the hallway nervously. There were lots and lots and lots of people around she didn't know. One or two she could handle, but there had to be more than forty between the guests and apparent residents of the inn. This would be a challenge. Yet that was nothing to the challenge that awaited her behind this door. No distractions, just her and a Ranger, and she was still uncertain of her freedom, despite that beautiful mug. She feared that suddenly the voice would start up again. With a sigh she told herself to stop worrying and trust the two who had helped her. Some things, though, had to be seen and felt to be believed and here was the truest test possible. She raised her hand and knocked lightly on the door, and was told to enter. She shut the door behind her and looked around.

There sat the captain, who was just cleaning his quill and laying it aside. A page of something written sat lightly covered in sand before him. Their eyes locked immediately. Garlakh braced for the howling voice to start, braced against pain – but nothing happened. Nothing happened at all, except he started to smile at her. It was a tight, tired smile, but it was a real smile.

"Your eyes are different, Garlakh."

She tilted her head in confusion and he just nodded, looking at her steadily. "Calmer, more open and focused, less fearful, though I think you're still figuring things out. I know now what Bob saw when he watched you forge and the voice had no hold on you. What happened?"

She told him and he nodded. "Eru works in very strange ways sometimes. I am glad he saw fit to answer the prayers of your friends. Sit down." He pointed to a chair.

She wondered as she settled in the chair whether he had been one of those prayerful souls, if that was the right word for what asking the gods for help was called. Somehow she thought he might have been, but he didn't say. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a large pouch and a scroll of fine paper, then seemed to decide that he wanted a less formal setting and moved his chair to sit nearer to her so the desk was no longer between them.

"Do you read?" he asked.

Garlakh shook her head. "Broke the nib of the quill three times trying to learn how to draw. Do you think you could …" She trailed off. She wanted to learn how to read and write if she could, but she feared to ask too much of this fellow or anyone else. She gazed at the seal and the groups of markings visible, tracing them with no comprehension, but with great interest. Halbarad watched her. The pouch lay near the scroll, completely forgotten for the moment.

"You'd like to learn." He sounded pleased. "I'll let Celebsul know. He'd be the one to know who would be the best instructor."

Garlakh nodded, then Halbarad explained what was on the desk in front of her. "This is a personal letter to you from Lord Faramir, Steward of Gondor. He is the king's second in command and rules whenever he is away from the city. Shall I read it?"

Garlakh lifted her head sharply from the fascinating markings and stared at Halbarad. The name 'Faramir' was one she knew. Her dreams had told her this was one she had been meant to kill, or more likely, to die in the attempt. She sent a silent 'thank you' that she no longer felt that pressure. She only nodded.

"Garlakh," he read slowly, tracing his finger along the groups of markings so she could at least see the separations between words if not yet each individual letter.

"It is with no small amount of relief and surprise that I heard your deeds of January 17th in the year four of the fourth age recounted and read Captain Halbarad's report of your view of events. Bandits like those you vanquished have troubled Gondor greatly since the end of the war, and this band was particularly troublesome and long-lived. We of Gondor owe you a great debt. The belongings brought to us identify the Ranger as one of our finest and most valiant, and one who had been a friend to me for many years."

Garlakh frowned slightly with concern as she listened, hoping the Ranger who'd died wasn't Sev's man and feeling a pang for this stranger who had just, she thought, shown her a small piece of his heart. Halbarad continued to read, patiently pointing out the words to her. "The enclosed pouch contains your bounty. We prefer our criminals brought in alive to face a trial, but recognize it is not always possible. It is something we occasionally must do when our own efforts at catching criminals fail, though it is an unpleasant act. I do not mind telling you that it caused a stir in these parts to send the coin to an orc, but our laws are clear. You have complied with all they ask and are free under them, so just as free to collect a reward that would have been given without hesitation even to a simple farmer if he had caught or led us to the bandits. Again Gondor thanks you for your aid. I hope you will use the coin honorably. Certainly the Rangers you know have growing confidence that you will do so, particularly after the events of the 17th, and I have found their judgments to be sound in the past."

He shifted the scroll slightly and continued. "I do not mind telling you that you have been of interest to me for several months now, and I hope very much to meet you some day. Until I do, though, I would like to request of you a goblet with a similar engraving to that on Captain Halbarad's mug. It is surely a sign of hope for this age when an orc adopts that particular sign. It tells me you are grasping your chance at freedom with both hands. I wish you every success."

Hal looked up just long enough to spot Garl's stunned expression and finished reading, rolling up the scroll after pointing out the last word, "Written this 19th day of January, in the Fourth Year of the Fourth Age in my own hand. Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, Steward of Gondor under the reign of Elessar of the House of Telcontar."

Sliding the scroll into a leather case, Hal passed both it and the pouch over to her. She didn't even look into the pouch, which seemed to surprise Halbarad. How much was in there didn't matter to her because she didn't help Sev and Lug in hopes of getting paid. Despite that truth, though, the weight of it told her it would last her for a very long time even if there wasn't a single gold piece in there.

"Congratulations, though that's a rather odd thing to say for killing people. In truth you and Sev spared the first five an ordeal, though I suspect everyone will be happier if you don't have to do it again."

She looked confused.

"Killing," Halbarad said softly, a haunted look in his eyes, "is a terrible act, never done without cost to one's soul. Life is something precious and should only be taken when there's no other option. You begin to understand the value of life, I think, or you would not have protected Sev so fiercely."

Garlakh gave a sour grunt. "Doubt there's much more damage to be done to my soul, then. I can't begin to tell you how many times I've killed in my lifetime."

Halbarad's headshake was emphatic in disagreement, his voice sharpening with a crack of authority and even a hint of impatience at what he thought was ill-timed humor. "Damage enough, Garlakh! If your soul was damaged beyond hope or help, you'd not have made the decisions you have the last several years. This is not a joke."

"Nor was I joking." She answered.

"Fair enough, then," said Halbarad, calming quickly when he realized he had misunderstood her. "but my point still stands. Only kill when you must."

"Yes, captain. I understand. If anything I'm at even more risk than you are. If I yield to that urge too often, I could easily return to what my breeding would have me be. I absolutely do not wish to do that."

They exchanged a nod of complete understanding.

"Now, I have another question for you."

Garlakh cocked her head curiously, watching his eyes. There was suddenly something hard and demanding in them. Her hand twitched instinctively toward her weapons, which she was wearing, but she did not draw and instead crossed them over her hauberk, gripping her elbows uneasily.

"Do you know where Sevilodorf is?"

"Minas Tirith, Warg said. Wherever that is."

The questions kept coming. "Do you know her intentions? Have you helped her? Did she make plans to meet you on the road north?"

Now she grimaced. _"If you lie to him, even by omission, you will have lost his trust."_ Sev's words echoed in her mind. How could she have allowed herself to be put in this position? How could Sev give her advice on how to deal with this man and yet be so poor at following it herself? She opened her mouth to answer, but shut it again, dropping her eyes. How was she to handle this? She couldn't lie to the man, but neither could she tell and yet keep her word to Sev. With little else to go on, she wondered if she should just fall back on military training to obey a superior officer, which Hal would technically be in the only frame of reference she'd ever known.

Her confused thoughts were shattered by a smack of an exasperated hand on the table and her mace was half out of its harness before she realized it. She shoved it back in hastily and recrossed her arms, looking at Halbarad apologetically, almost desperately so.

He raked both his hands back through his hair and then they thunked on the table again, though this time it was a limp gesture, more resigned than angry, she thought. His voice softened, though every word was as clearly enunciated as a gold chip in a granite wall.

"Let me take a few guesses, then. You two spoke at least once while you were healing and she told you she was going to go after Anardil whether anyone else liked it or not. She also swore you to silence."

Garlakh nodded miserably as she silently apologized to Sevilodorf, feeling she had betrayed the woman somehow. On the other hand, what could she really do if the man seemed to already know?

"I don't suppose," he continued, "that you attempted to stop her, either because you recognized that she would go no matter what anyone said or because you didn't dare."

Garlakh shook her head with a snort that spoke of just how unlikely she thought it was that anyone would have been able to stopped the determined Rohirrim.

Halbarad's grimace said he understood the snort and its meaning and even silently agreed. "What did you do, then?"

"Made her a couple of knives and new boots with sheaths in them for more, and," she hesitated, but shrugged. There was nothing for it but to fess up. "…. told her what I know of Rhûn and its people. I'd have liked to armor her properly. They're dangerous people and it's no place for anyone to be alone. As it turns out I didn't have time." Garlakh's words barely passed her lips.

"Answer me this time. Do you know when she was planning to go or by what route?"

"No, Captain." Garlakh saw no point in keeping silent any further. The man knew more than she did if he even knew precisely where Sev was tonight. "She told me nothing. Since I knew there was no stopping her, I tried to help prepare her. Do what you will with me."

There was a soul-deep sigh from the captain that seemed to start in the soles of his boots and he put his head in his hands for a moment, his hair swinging over his eyes until he brushed it back with an impatient flick. "I'm sorry for startling you earlier, Garlakh. It's been a very frustrating few months," he said, "As of now, she's safely in Minas Tirith. She tried to get permission from our king to hunt for Anardil and was denied and forbidden to return to this area until further notice. She is staying with her family in the city, but I doubt even our king will manage to restrain her for too much longer."

The Ranger Captain leaned back in his chair and studied Garlakh. For a moment, she feared he would ask her for some vow of obedience, but Halbard merely smiled a bit ruefully and said, "As for what I am going to do with you, I am going to tell you to go downstairs and have dinner. You are welcome here and frankly, with that stubborn streak you fit right in. You have friends here already, and you will find more. Do not feel you've betrayed Sevilodorf. You gave her what you could in the time available to you and you kept your word not to tell until I dragged it out of you kicking and screaming all the way. Between us, we put you in an awkward position."

"She told me not to lie to you even by omission if I wanted your trust."

"Good advice," he agreed wryly. "Too bad she doesn't follow it herself. You've done the best you could in an untenable situation." Rising, he motioned to the door. "Now, let's get to dinner before Milo or Erin comes hunting for us. I understand lamb stew's on the menu tonight."

When she and the captain got downstairs, he nodded to her and smiled encouragingly, then went to sit with his Rangers as she looked for somewhere to sit. The floor would have suited her fine, but somehow she thought all these benches, tables and chairs were supposed to be used. Before she could decide on a spot, a female voice spoke from her side as the smell of the stew filled her nostrils.

"Excuse me, please, coming through. Oh, you must be Garlakh! Welcome, I'm Erin Atwater. Warg says that table over there close to the fire might suit you." She dimpled at Garlakh.

Garlakh stepped backward to let her through, then with a quiet "Thank you," went toward the indicated table.

"Garl!" came a smoky rumble from behind the bar as she approached it and she looked to see Raug's eyes glowing brightly with his version of a beaming smile as he looked at her. "What'll it be for you tonight?"

"Lidless eye, if you know it." Garl said.

Raug rumbled a laugh. "I know it, but that's not even good enough to be called swill and we haven't got the ingredients. Bad beer, yes, since Bob fancies himself a brewer and isn't, but none of the rest of it."

There was a laugh from one of the stools. "What do you recommend then?" Garlakh asked.

But it wasn't Raug's voice that answered. "Cherry-B. First one's on me." That was Bob.

Garlakh just nodded to Raug and carried on to the table toward which she had been pointed.

Once settled with the first bowl of stew, she looked around and took in the atmosphere. It was less crowded than it had been. Most of the folk who lived or were visiting hereabouts must have gone on to bed or their homes, and that was all to the good as far as Garlakh was concerned. Someone in the corner was singing a song about riding across plains to the accompaniment of a drum, pipe and harp. A couple of dwarves, none of whom looked grumpy enough to be Master Malin, was playing cards. Their wagers appeared small, since the oaths of the losers were mild, almost habitual rather than heartfelt. She had never seen a game that could be called casual among her own kind and watched them a moment. She looked away and idly wondered what kind of mission Malin was on and found herself wondering if she might have whatever he sought. She snorted at what seemed a foolish thought. They didn't need smiths.

"You were hungry, weren't you?" said a cheerful female voice at her elbow, breaking into her thoughts. "How about seconds?"

She looked down at her bowl in surprise. "Yes if you don't mind, and more bread as well."

The hobbit hurried off and Garl continued to look around. There was Firnelin with Bob and Nik at the bar. Bob caught her looking at him and raised his bottle in salute. Warg was close by, snoring lustily near the hearth, legs twitching as if she chased something in her dreams. "Happy hunting," Garl thought toward her, and smiled.

By the time an hour passed, Garlakh had met all three of the lady hobbits – not that she could tell who was who yet - and amazed Milo with her appetite, having managed to put away four bowls of the stew, as many pieces of bread and half a dozen sweet wafers with nuts inside the hobbits named "cookies". She had discovered that while Cherry-B was tolerable, it was far too sweet and she would much prefer whiskey. Raug had no Forge-fire, the dwarven whiskey that had been the subject of many a scuffle over loot back in her old tribe, but said he'd see about getting some for next time and brought her something almost as good. A mixture of different liquors with a spicy taste. It would have been very easy for Garlakh to get drunk, but she sipped slowly at the glass and kept her wits about her. She'd still have to walk home after all, and even at night there was sometimes danger on the roads.

As she sat watching, she saw Hal and his wife go upstairs. Elanna had invited Garl to come learn pottery before they departed, and Garlakh decided she was looking forward to that very much. For some reason it made Hal smile when the offer was made and accepted. Then an unhappy-looking Ranger, who was not Bob and who had pretty much ignored her existence, departed in the company of two elves she didn't know. They'd spoken of a perimeter patrol. She silently wished them a boring one. Boring meant that all would come home safely. Nik left, explaining that he had an early start tomorrow with spring planting, and Firnelin was right behind him saying he was going to get a boar for the hobbits. Instead of remaining alone at the bar, Bob asked if he might sit at her table.

Long they talked into the night. As they did Garlakh felt that warmth inside her again that she had felt when Warg and Nik invited her on their jaunt. Was this what it felt like to belong somewhere? No one had batted an eye about an orc sitting to sup with them, and even the Rangers spoke to her with respect, except the one who didn't speak at all. He really hadn't spoken to anyone else either, so maybe silence was just his nature. The indistinguishable hobbit ladies had fed her to the point where she was afraid to bend lest she burst. She almost dared to lay aside her weapons and stay for more than a couple of hours.

" _You are pack_ ," Warg's words echoed through her mind as the warmth expanded.

Bob must have seen something of her thoughts on her face. "What is it?"

"Raug, a round of drinks for everyone still here if you would," Garlakh called over to the bar as she reached into her newly acquired pouch and fetched a few silvers.

"I think," Garlakh answered Bob ponderously as the drink orders were collected and delivered, "that I feel welcomed here."

Bob's answer was a grin.

Warg had awakened unnoticed by Garlakh and eavesdropped on the hobbit ladies, who were starting to clean up the dishes from empty tables and clean the tables themselves. The crumbs on the floor they left to her, but it was understood she wouldn't go higher than that in search of scraps.

"Look at her," said Meri. "All in armor and with her weapons and all that. We will need to do something to change that. She's on her guard even here."

"It can't have been nice where she came from," Erin said. "Does she even own anything that isn't armor?"

"She's wearing our scarf," Camellia added happily. "It's really too warm out for wool, but she's wearing it."

"I wonder when her birthday is." That was Meri again, cocking her head and studying Garlakh's figure. "I can't really tell what she looks like under all that stiff leather and armor."

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Camellia asked.

"Probably," Meri grinned. "Proper clothes and a Daisy Goodbody."

Grins were exchanged all around. "The question is how to get her to let us do it," Erin said.

"Easy! She'll be back to do pottery with Elanna. You could tell she wanted to, even though she tried to hide it. We snag her after one of her lessons when she's all filthy!" Meri was nodding emphatically now. More looks were exchanged and it was agreed.

Warg couldn't help a chuff of laughter as her tail wagged happily. She didn't understand the hobbits' fixation on clothes and baths, but it meant they accepted Garl as pack, too, and that was good enough for her. Garlakh was going to have an interesting time. Warg hoped she was ready for it.

Warg, part owner of Burping Troll, talking Warg with near-human intelligence. Fiercely loyal to her pack.

Nik, Undersized uruk bred in Isengard. Lives with Russbeorn.

Garlakh, orc born in the Grey Mountains though not in Gundabad, served in Mirkwood during the war of the ring. Very shy of strangers but also curious. Has always been prone to unusual thoughts for an orc and is now free to try to act on them and learn more of life.

Russbeorn, nine foot tall, skinchanging Beorning owner of a farm on the edge of Wetwang.

Celebsul, woodworker, wise and ancient elf who's actually been around since the time of the trees In Valenor, thus is a contemporary of Feanor. Does not share his disposition, fortunately.

Bob, Ranger, brother to Elanna. Poor brewer who has also some skill at blacksmithing.

Elanna, Ranger, sister to Bob, wife to Halbarad.

Works in pottery and glassblowing in partnership with Raug.

Halbarad, Ranger, captain of the outpost at the Troll, husband to Elanna. Notably not the same Halbarad who died on the Pelennor fields.

Raug, runty eight foot tall balrog in search of redemption after having served Morgoth, bartender at the Troll, partner in pottery and glassblowing with Elanna

Firnelin, One of six elf brothers, loves hunting.

Sevilodorf, Rohirrim trader and healer. Romantically attached to Anardil.

Anardil, Former ranger who now serves his king as a "calculating observer" after loss of an arm in the battle for Minas Tirith. Romantically attached to Sevilodorf

Smokey, Warg's pet pig.

Faramir, Stuart of Gondor.

King Elessar, King of Gondor.

Unnamed bandits: an unsavory mixture of men from various places and backgrounds led by a former lieutenant in the army of Sauron who speaks the black speech. No longer a threat.

Morling: Silent ranger at the Troll.

Malin: Master smith from Dwarven mining colony in the Ash Mountains.

Kasweld: Kin to Sevilodorf by marriage, Rohirrim trader who runs the route between Minas Tirith and the dwarven mining colony in the Ash Mountains.

Other orcs:

Gubbitch, leader of local band of rehabilitated orcs.

Titch, one of Gubbitch's lieutenants.

Jabot, the other of Gubbitch's lieutenants.

Muggins, Martoc, two orcs in the band who enjoy gambling.

Rackler, largest orc in the band. Has too much of a temper for his own good and when displeased, will bully and intimidate anyone who doesn't stand up to him. Kept under tight rein by Gubbitch or his lieutenants.

Lugbac, large, slow-witted orc who is fond of Sevilodorf and often accompanies her, getting into a remarkable variety of trouble along the way.

Erzog: Newer member of the band who has some skill at blacksmithing, but not the eyesight or patience to be a true master at it.

Mute: Member of the band whose tongue was long ago cut out and who thus must communicate by way of pictures and gestures. Most of the band has no time for him, which is perhaps to their loss. His true name is as yet unknown.

Hobbits:

Erin, Meri, Camellia, Milo

November 1423 Warg and Nik on walkabout

couple of days after Tarannon tells Anardil missing they return to BT with news of strange orc

Early December … Nik and Warg confront Garlakh

December 14 Garl's first trading day Bob interferes

December 15 Gubbitch to plan forge

Dec 18/19 Garl meets Cel

Dec 21 another trading day meets Raug

Dec 23 search for coal

Dec 24 coalmining/Celebsul visits Garl

January 2 forge

Jan 3 Bob/Firnelin visit

Jan 17 bandit's appear /trading day melee

Jan 18 Hal to Russbeorn's

Jan 19 recovering at Russ's

Jan 24 nightmares

Feb 17 healing

Feb 24 Kasweld introduced to orcs

Late March after Sev leaves … trip with Warg

April 5 Garlakh to BT


End file.
